


nothing to keep me from the storm (today could be your day)

by amorremanet



Series: a gnawing feeling leaves you quite unsure [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Punk, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fights, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lance & Shiro Friendship, Mental Health Issues, Minor Ezor/Kuron (Voltron), Minor Lotor/Shiro (Voltron), Past Abuse, Past Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Past Relationship(s), Past Sendak/Shiro (Voltron), Recovery, Recovery is hard, Self-Hatred, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shiro (Voltron) is a Mess, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Slice of Life, Someone Help Takashi Shirogane, Texting, but ultimately worth it, twinganes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 09:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13338717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/pseuds/amorremanet
Summary: After six months of sobriety and a difficult summer, Shiro slips up on a combination of stressors. He doesn’t think this deserves any attention, much less serious discussion, and he’d rather be left to his moping and tequila. Everyone else in his life disagrees, and his brother, in particular, is intent on figuring out what’s going on so he can help.“You’ve had bad sessionswithoutfalling off the wagon. What made this one different?” Instead of getting an answer, Ryou has to watch his brother shrug as if he’s getting out of this by pretending to be clueless. “Do youwantto do things the hard way?”“I dunno, do you particularlywantyour roommate to starve or burn down your apartment?”“Sven’s already looking after Slav, so I’ve gotall nightfor this. We can do things the hard way, if that’s what you really want.”“Well, I don’t have any answers that you wanna hear.” Grunting softly, Shiro drops his head onto the back of the sofa. “And you can’t will them into being, either.”





	nothing to keep me from the storm (today could be your day)

**Author's Note:**

> So, here we are with yet another exploration of certain backstory that’s been discussed and alluded to in “[But boys spring infernal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11717574/)” but didn’t really have a place in the main fic. At least, it didn’t have a place all written out with proper scenes and dialogue, and I wanted to write it with those instead of just talking about it (and my horrible, gremlin brain wouldn’t let me finish the next chapter of the main fic until I first exorcised some Twinganes-flavored angst), so I did.
> 
> Timeline-wise, this fic’s events are happening in early October 2015, about two years before BBSI and two years after the Shiro/Sendak backstory that got explored in “[you’d kill me if you could stand the sight of blood](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12269214/).”
> 
> As with the latter of those fics, **please, please, PLEASE heed the tags on this fic.** It deals with some of the messier, more difficult parts of recovery, including backsliding/slipping up, some of the potential side-effects of psych meds, what can happen when you aren’t on the right meds for you or your meds don’t work, and feelings like, “I don’t like feeling bad but don’t know if I know how to feel good, also recovery is hard and sometimes terrifying.”
> 
> This fic also deals with the part where people in your support network can’t really help you to the best of their abilities if they don’t know what they’re dealing with — because unfortunately, as you probably already know, Shiro. Meaning: one of his biggest problems (in my read on him) is that he wants people to see him in certain ways(/feels like he needs to be a certain version of himself) and doesn’t like opening up or admitting when he needs help.
> 
> There are also seferences to abuse (Shiro’s relationship with Sendak) and his past suicide attempt (discussed in ch. 17 of BBSI and seen in ch. 6 of “you’d kill me if”), and a brief instance of past homophobia and use of homophobic slurs (by one of Shiro’s high school lacrosse team “friends,” who was an abusive dickbag foster brother to Keith for a while).
> 
> TL;DR: The fact that no Archive warnings apply here does not mean that this fic is for everybody. If you feel like it might not be safe reading for you, then please, take care of yourself first and go read something that makes you happy instead. ♡
> 
> Title shamelessly ripped off from Florence and the Machine’s “Hurricane Drunk” and Emilie Autumn’s “Take The Pill,” because I couldn’t pick which one I liked better for this fic so I just used both.

When his phone buzzes and displays another banner from another text he doesn’t want to deal with (this one from Hunk), Shiro’s sitting on a stool at Moonstruck Tavern and flicking through his news app for the latest on Hurricane Joaquin and the nor’easter rocking North Carolina. Instead of reading what’s on Hunk’s mind or giving it any fair consideration, Shiro keeps scrolling through the updates about Syria, and Yemen, and the governor of California legalizing euthanasia.

All of it sounds terrible, but Shiro would rather read this stuff than his texts, right now. At least _these_ terrible things are important, unlike all of the nonsense messages about what Shiro’s doing and where he is and how his friends are getting very concerned for him by now and so on. Shaking out his ponytail, he takes a long drink from his latest Diet-Coke-and-Cuervo, fully intent on ignoring this missive. So far this evening, he’s successfully tuned out every attempt at getting to him through his texts, even the ones from his brother, even with his and Ryou’s rules about not ignoring calls or texts from each other that have been in place since they lost their parents.

But as if the universe is testing his resolve, another text pops up before Shiro can start a game of _Candy Crush_ , just a single word:

**_Lance_**   
_bonito?_

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Shiro grumbles and clicks over to his messages. To those from Lance, at least. Unlike Hunk and Ryou and most of the people with any cause to be texting Shiro, Lance might feel more personally hurt if he doesn’t get Shiro’s read receipts and/or some kind of response from him. Everybody else might get upset with Shiro for what he’s doing and that’s fair, but Lance is more likely to worry that Shiro might not really care about him or value him as a friend and band-mate. At the moment, trying to look out for Lance’s anxiety and sense of self-worth is keeping Shiro from what he wants to be doing.

On the other hand, though? Ignoring Lance would take this stunt out of the realm of _“Things that only hurt Shiro,”_ and even the thought of that makes Shiro cringe down at his half-empty glass. As Shiro scrolls up through them, the pile of most recent texts from Lance sure seem to support the idea that he’s probably twisting himself up in knots about where he stands in Shiro’s life:

_**5:40 PM:** hey, what’s up? Still at work? ❤️_

Biting back on a shiver, Shiro drains the rest of his drink and orders another one. By Lance’s standards, that first text might as well be speaking the Queen’s English with perfect MLA format for any ensuing citations. Lance is definitely getting nervous — oh, that’s _great_. Simply _fantastic._

_**5:52 PM:** Whenever you see this? I wasn’t ignoring you or anything like that today, i swear_

Shiro rolls his eyes at that. Of course Lance wasn’t ignoring him. He hasn’t sent Lance any texts since he left his LDN’s office, late this morning. He told Lance that things with Sophie had gone fine (because there was no reason why they shouldn’t have), then asked where Lance wanted to meet for lunch and how long he had until his afternoon class. Lance sent back a mid-sized list of options, claiming that really, he wasn’t set on anything in particular yet, so he wanted Shiro’s input, and ha ha sorry, he knows he said he’d decide for them, but hey, Shiro knows how Lance’s attention span can get right, so what all sounds the best to you, _bonito_?

Times like this, Shiro can’t tell how he feels about his and Lance’s unspoken agreement to ignore how unsubtle Lance can be when he gets like this. After the weekend that Shiro had, Lance wanted to make sure that Shiro was doing okay and that his appointment with Sophie didn’t throw him off too badly. Moreover, he wanted to make sure that Shiro actually ate lunch in the first place, instead of “getting distracted” by throwing himself into his work at the bookshop and trying to make sense of Mr. Phalen’s alleged organizational system, or “letting it slip his mind” because he was turning over fifteen other difficult things but he didn’t miss lunch on purpose, or convincing himself that he felt sick right now and nothing sounded palatable but he’d get around to eating when his stomach settled properly.

In essence, Lance was making sure that Shiro didn’t fall back on any of his old excuses for skipping meals. Never mind that Shiro hasn’t done any of those things in _months_ , Sophie would’ve been _so_ happy that Lance was so proactive. Meanwhile, Shiro tried to pretend he couldn’t tell what was really going on. On one hand, part of him feels condescended to by the ruse that Lance used, and subsequently guilty because Shiro _knows_ that Lance never means to come off like that.

On the other hand, though, Shiro appreciates the effort that Lance always bothers to put into his tissue-paper-flimsy façades. Hearing Sophie all but outright call him a total head-case today was bad enough, if anyone cares how Shiro feels. It more than filled Shiro’s daily quota of awfulness to hear Sophie break out one of her _Deeply Concerned_ tones, saccharine but not quite cloying and accompanied by a small smile so soft, it made Shiro’s skin crawl. About the last thing he needed was for _Lance_ to get in on it too and remind him that he’s cracked in ways that nobody can fix.

Dimly, as he throws himself into his new drink, Shiro realizes that Sophie didn’t say anything like that and she _wouldn’t_. They’ll have their second anniversary in January, and she’s never been anything but understanding, supportive, and kind. He had to go through three other LDNs before finding someone he felt comfortable with, who was also in his HMO’s network and didn’t try to use other parts of Shiro’s history and records to explain away his eating disorder, like it was as easy as _bibbidi-bobbidi-boo_. But something in him still feels like that she was calling him broken, and crazy, and hopeless, and probably a lost cause, at this point.

Worse, _all_ of him realizes that he’d deserve to hear a criticism like that. He deserved to get sent home from the bookshop early, too, no matter how much it stings to be reminded that six weeks an inpatient rehab and nearly two years in Ulaz’s care haven’t made Shiro’s mental health any less unstable. He’s still a house of cards sitting on a rickety table, in a ramshackle house, and everything that ever falls in his lap hits him hard enough to score at least a seven on the Richter scale.

True, he’s probably never going to hear that criticism from Lance, but Shiro wouldn’t blame his friend for saying it.

Either way, and far more pressingly right now, Shiro has no idea why Lance feels the need to say he wasn’t ignoring him, when he obviously couldn’t have done that? But Lance has done weirder things than this before, and will in all likelihood do stranger things than this in the future. Perhaps the rest of his texts will clear things up, or at least give Shiro better insight into what Lance thinks he’s getting at tonight.

_**5:53 PM:** I meant to text earlier but it was project time and Jeff took all our phones away_

That makes Shiro scoff. He guesses he can’t begrudge Lance’s boyfriend for wanting to keep them on-task so badly, especially when this project is worth 30% of their final grade. Also, Lance and at least two other members of their group all have ADHD, which is something they have to account for in making plans for who does what and how this process needs to go.

But, on the other hand? Lance has been excited about this project since their prof handed out the assignments a few weeks ago, so that’s _one_ person who actually wants to focus on the work at hand. Not that Shiro has met anyone contributing to this project aside from Lance and Jeff, or that he thinks they don’t bring anything to the table, or that he wants to accuse them of slacking off and reaping the benefits of Lance and Jeff’s hard work. But at the same time, Jeff is a smart and dedicated guy, and Lance unlocks creativity that most people are too short-sighted to think he’s capable of, when he’s interested in something and has the right kind of motivation. If it comes down to the two of them saving the whole project from their partners’ apathy, it won’t be ideal but they should be fine.

Besides that, taking away other people’s phones seems dangerous. Too many ways it could go wrong. Someone could miss an important call from their family, or an important email about an internship they’re going out for, or an important text about their sick pet, or something. Someone could have a friend who they want to check on, in case that friend might be in trouble (which Shiro absolutely _isn’t_ , but somehow, he rather doubts that anyone else in his life would currently agree with his assessment of the situation)—

_**6:05 PM:** Hey i know it’s getting kinda late but do you wanna get dinner?_

_**6:08 PM:** Full disclosure: I’m asking because I thought you were supposed to get dinner with Ryou tonight but then I saw him at the library and he said you two didn’t have any plans, so now we’re kinda confused and wondering what’s up?_

_**6:11 PM:** He said he hasn’t heard from you at all since this morning?_

_**6:15 PM:** And I guess all you guys talked about was HIS plans for the day? Not about your appointment or meeting your bf’s freak-show parents or anything that you’re up to? He thought you might be taking it easier bc you still needed to recover from Lotor’s parents?_

_**6:21 PM:** not that I’m accusing you of anything here, I promise that I’m NOT, okay?_

_**6:23 PM:** but did I remember wrong or something? Didn’t you say you had plans over lunch? Doctor’s orders?_

—dammit, right. Shiro was supposed to text his brother and ask if Ryou was free tonight.

That wasn’t even Shiro’s idea or simply him being clingy in ways that Ryou doesn’t deserve to be saddled with. Maybe it wasn’t entirely “doctor’s orders,” either, but only because _technically_ , Shiro didn’t get the idea from a doctor. Probably no one in his life would let him split that hair, since he got the idea from _Sophie_ , but still. Technically, she’s _not_ a doctor. She hasn’t been to medical school or gotten a PhD in anything.

However, in Sophie’s fully-certified, professional opinion, as a dietitian-nutritionist with a Master of Science from UMass-Amherst, a license from the State of Massachusetts, and a list of publications and conference presentations that is, frankly, rather daunting, Shiro needed to talk to _someone_ other than Ulaz about the recent trouble that, in her mind, he’s had with his appetite and sticking to any semblance of a meal plan. Not that she devalues the importance of Shiro’s therapist and the work they’re doing, of course not. But Ulaz can only do so much if Shiro ignores one of the biggest pieces of advice he’s ever heard from Ulaz and doesn’t keep members of his support network involved in his life and what’s going on for him, emotionally.

Ulaz can only do so much when he doesn’t have the whole story, either. Except Shiro couldn’t remember what he has or hasn’t told Ulaz about his appetite lately, so he didn’t mention the lacunae to Sophie, either. Doesn’t matter, really, because the point remains the same. Once again, Shiro has tipped his hand and reminded everybody in his life that he’s an utter fuck-up.

_Why not start with talking to your brother?_ , Sophie suggested — which made more than perfect sense, in theory. After all, they’re so close that Shiro’s waived confidentiality so Ryou can talk to Sophie about him, whenever Ryou wants to do so. As far as Shiro knows, Ryou hasn’t taken advantage of that privilege more than once, about six weeks after Shiro started seeing Sophie and four months before Shiro would move in with Hunk and Lance while Slav would move in with Ryou. At that, the questions Ryou posed Sophie were less about things Shiro had told her, more about how Ryou could best help his brother with his recovery because an eating disorder wasn’t as easy for Ryou to wrap his head around as Shiro being an addict.

Tonight, Lance seems like he’s getting about as disoriented as Ryou was:

_**6:30 PM:** It’s okay if you don’t want to get dinner or you already did, but can you just let me know?_

_**6:32 PM:** Answer me, Shiro? Please? Not hearing from you is really making me nervous_

Groaning into his palm, Shiro can’t believe that he forgot to so much as _ask_ if Ryou could meet him tonight. _Stupid, **stupid**_ — he’s such an idiot. He doesn’t even have a good _excuse_ , this time, because his appointment with Sophie shouldn’t have messed him up so badly. He had no right to get upset about anything she said. It wasn’t as if Shiro didn’t _know_ , going into her office, that she was going to be disappointed in him for how the past three months have gone. Trying doesn’t matter without results, and Shiro has more than earned Sophie’s frustration, lately.

Her reactions during their session fit with how much Shiro’s mucked up everything lately, and how badly said mucking-up has been across the board. Dean Zarkon and Honerva were disappointed, meeting him at dinner on Saturday night. For all the two of them don’t much seem to like their only son, they _must_ have thought that Lotor deserves an infinitely better boyfriend, which is fair enough, because he _does_. At the very least, they must’ve hated that Lotor’s dating someone who encourages his music, but that _cannot possibly_ have been the only reason why they were so cold to him, why everything they said sounded like they wanted to hire an assassin to take Shiro out for them and make it look like a suicide.

_**6:40 PM:** Okay, Hunk just said maybe silence means you’re on a date with Lotor or something_

_**6:41 PM:** Did he take you to see The Martian? You gotta tell me how it is_

_**6:42 PM:** I thought you guys weren’t doing a movie date until Crimson Peak comes out but maybe I just remembered that wrong too_

_**6:55 PM:** Okay, man, this isn’t funny. I KNOW you’re not on a date with Lotor_

_**6:58 PM:** Me and Hunk are waiting for Pidge at Java Hut. I just ran into your boyfriend and Acxa and Zethrid. Lotor said he hasn’t heard from you at all since yesterday what the hell is going on? wht the HELL???_

_**7:00 PM:** what are u doing? Where ARE you?_

_**7:03 PM:** Matt hasnt heard from you either and Ryou says ur ignoring his texts whats goin on_

_**7:10 PM:** Shirito, please, are ou okay?_

_**7:14 PM:** can u PLEASE text me back already??_

_**7:15 PM:** at least can u read them_

_**7:18 PM:** i’m not mad at You, shiro i promise. I’m worried bout u but im NOT mad_

Now, finally, Lance is disappointed in Shiro too, for all he doesn’t use that word specifically. He’s still _trying_ to type more formally, but he’s losing track of his fingers, from the looks of it. If Shiro knows anything about Lance, then Hunk is probably the only reason why he’s still texting in the first place, instead of flailing, dropping his phone in someone’s latte, and storming out into the October night to hunt Shiro down himself and bodily drag him back to the apartment for some kind of Talk about this little stunt he’s pulling.

No matter how low his heart sinks in his chest at these ideas and the threat that Hunk might decide to let Lance do whatever he wants, Shiro can’t argue with any of this. He deserves Lance’s outrage. If it came to pass, Shiro would deserve for Lance to scream himself raw, right up in his friend’s ear. His last two texts make this abundantly obvious:

_**7:27 PM:** Shiro, please. Nobody’s angry with you. We want to help. Please, please, PLEASE tell one of us where you are_

_**7:35 PM:** bonito?_

That came in seven minutes ago. No, wait, eight. It’s only a matter of time before someone calls. Even if he can fake sobriety better vocally than through a text, Shiro can’t deal with trying to explain himself right now. Not unless he wants to end up crying on the bar.

Trying to ignore the guilt that twists through the pit of his chest, Shiro switches his phone over to airplane mode. There, no calls, no texts, no anything. He orders another drink with his glass only half-empty. His stomach growls because Shiro _really_ needed to be reminded that he _hasn’t_ eaten dinner yet tonight, something else that almost everyone he loves will take his head off for.

The only exceptions to that statement are the ones who _can’t_ take Shiro’s head off. Kira, Aunt Satomi, and Tatsuya are out in Rancho Cucamonga. Maurice is in Chicago, and he has no idea where his _sweet boy_ ever ran off to or why or if he’s alive at all, and Shiro doesn’t love that bastard anymore, he _doesn’t_. If Mom and Dad were still alive, they _might_ not take Shiro’s head off exactly, but they wouldn’t be happy with him. If his Grandmother Shirogane were still with them, she definitely _would_ take his head off for this, and Grandfather Namesake would go so cold in his disapproval that it’d make Shiro wish the old man would yell at him instead. And as for _Keith_ —

Shiro swallows thickly, fakes a smile while he thanks the bartender, throws back the rest of his half-gone drink and squeezes a lime-wedge into the new one. Glancing down the bar, he thinks he recognizes a cropped red jacket that he hasn’t seen in ages and a mess of black hair that he hasn’t been able to forget the feel of. Shiro gasps. His heart flutters before stopping mid-beat… It can’t really be Keith? Can it? Could it maybe, could Shiro have found him, could he really be here, could this be Keith—

Of course, it isn’t. The other patron turns around, revealing a tight Bikini Kill t-shirt, modified to show off an impressive amount of cleavage. She’s hacked up the neckline without hemming it up again. How she can expose that much skin when this October’s been so cold, Shiro has no idea. Then again, it’s her body and none of his business.

It wouldn’t have mattered, if he’d found Keith in here, either. If there had ever been a chance that Keith might love him back, Shiro’s probably killed that off by now. Anyway, he has a boyfriend, and who even knows where Keith’s gotten off to. Not Shiro, that’s for sure. Wherever it is, Keith’s probably doing fine. He probably has a boyfriend of his own, or maybe a girlfriend, and Mark said he left Chicago to go to school, so even if Keith isn’t seeing anyone, he’ll have a life built up by now. A _good_ life, most likely. Keith’s clever and resilient, and wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, Shiro hopes he’s happy. He probably is. He’s probably doing perfectly without Shiro in his life anymore.

That has to be how it’s happened. Anything else would make no sense.

Sighing over the rim of his glass, Shiro switches his phone’s wifi back on so he can play _Candy Crush_. There are so many unsecured connections on this block, he doesn’t have any trouble in finding one that he can use. The sooner he gets out of his own _stupid_ head, the better.

*** * ***

_“Hey, it’s Shiro. I’m probably busy or sleeping or otherwise can’t come to the phone right now—”_

“Oh, bull _shit_ , you’re sleeping,” Ryou hisses, grinding hard at the bridge of his nose.

_“—So, you know what to do. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.”_

The telltale beep instructs Ryou to start talking. As he slumps onto his elbows and the Java Hut table that Lance and Hunk summoned him to, Ryou sighs so loudly that it will probably end up in his final message. Which is fine. He hopes that it comes through.

“ _Kashi_. It’s your brother,” he says, struggling to keep his voice measured. “Wherever you are, however you feel, whatever you think you’re doing? This isn’t funny. Turn your phone back on and _call. Me. Back._ ”

“Yes. Right,” Lotor drawls. Crossing his legs, he sips his latte and rolls his eyes at Ryou’s middle finger. “I have a perfectly valid point, thank you very much. Telling this to Shiro’s voicemail is _so_ effective. Here, I was under the impression that you fancied yourself the twin who has some modicum of _common sense_ , and yet you insist on— Ow! _Hey!_ ”

Doing his best impression of an aggravated cat who distinctly didn’t appreciate being dragged through bath-time, Lotor frowns at Ezor. Settling back into her seat, she shrugs and arches her eyebrows as if daring Lotor to come at her for a fight. She doesn’t apologize for smacking him on the back of the head. It wouldn’t be in earnest, if she did apologize, and everybody at their table knows it. When Pidge and Lance and Zethrid all snicker appreciatively, Ezor glows like she’s only a few seconds off from full-on preening. Despite Lotor’s grousing about how they’re his friends and he was making a fair point, she gladly accepts Zethrid’s congratulatory fist-bump.

Maybe it’s not the most helpful thing in the world, at the moment. Maybe Ryou should do more to discourage his girlfriend from violence than lacing their fingers together and holding her hand under the table. But as far as he can tell, Ezor didn’t do any damage to Lotor — the worst of it seems to be that she _somewhat_ knocked his ponytail — and God, but Ryou appreciates her mischievous streak and her willingness to throw down when someone pushes her. Plus, it’s always nice to see Lotor making one of the irritated faces that he reserves for those times when someone isn’t catering to his every whim and bending over backwards to give him everything he wants. It’s also nice for Acxa to take point on telling him how his behaviors aren’t helping, since Lotor listens to her better than he does most people.

“I don’t know if you’re hearing any of that in the background,” Ryou says into his phone. “But I’m at Java Hut with your boyfriend and Ezor. And Hunk, Lance, and Pidge. Also, Zethrid and Acxa are here, and Matt’s getting himself a coffee first. None of us has heard from you, and Dr. Iverson said he hasn’t either. But we’d all _really_ like to hear from you, Kashi, so… Please? We aren’t mad, we just want to know you’re okay. I love you.”

As he hangs up, Ryou looks up. He finds Lotor looking back at him, one eyebrow skeptically arched.

“Did that pointless exercise make you _feel_ better?” He huffs and flips his cowlick off his face. Smiling as if he might not hesitate before pushing Ryou in front of an oncoming train, Lotor keeps his tone pointedly light and chatty. Gossipy, even. “Would you like to place bets on this week’s Autumn Classic? Personally, I would _love_ it if Yuzuru Hanyu could pull off an amazing comeback after his injuries last season, but I cannot be certain whether he will or not. I’ve heard whispers that Sean Rabbitt might do well, but there hasn’t been an American competitor I can get truly enthused about since Johnny Weir retired—”

“How can you talk about _figure skating_ at a time like this,” Ryou snaps. He knows that Love is a many-splendored thing that often doesn’t follow any predictable models, much less anything that even remotely resembles rules. _Jesus_ , though, he has no idea what Kashi sees in Lotor.

The purple-haired pain-in-the-neck shrugs, insistently unimpressed and doing his best to seem unruffled by their current situation. “Betting on the Autumn Classic is every bit as helpful as talking to your brother’s voicemail. We _ought_ to be doing something more proactive.”

“Calling to see if Shiro turned his phone back on _is_ proactive,” Hunk counters, scowling.

“Also, you of all people should understand the significance of a voicemail like that,” Acxa tells him tiredly. “Considering how many times you’ve saved the ones that I left for you.”

Lotor’s cheeks flush dark. Pursing his lips, he hugs himself as much as he can without putting down his coffee. “That notwithstanding, _migadi_?” he says. “Any emotional reassurance that Shiro might get out that message has value, yes. But currently, it does not compare to the very pressing material importance of _finding him_.”

“And you’re being obnoxious, which doesn’t help either,” says Ezor venomously, squeezing Ryou’s hand as if this and Zethrid rubbing at her shoulder are the only things currently keeping her from putting Lotor in a headlock or punching him in the face.

On any other, normal evening, with any other typically obnoxious garbage coming out of Lotor’s mouth and getting on Ryou’s and Ezor’s last bi nerves, he would gladly sit by and watch her do either of those things. Whichever one would make her happier, he wouldn’t mind. He’d even make popcorn. He and Zethrid could share it, while sitting on someone’s couch and watching Ezor give Lotor whatever just desserts he’s called down on himself with his choices and behaviors lately. Kashi might not like it very much, but he doesn’t appreciate his boyfriend acting like an annoying, smug, entitled pig, either. Any other, normal evening, this would be a perfectly wonderful time of things for everyone but Lotor, who doesn’t count right now because Ryou hates him.

But as Matt pulls up into the empty seat between Pidge and Hunk, Ryou remembers that this is not any other, normal evening. Worse, Lance turns to Ryou, asking if he has any ideas for what they can do, and unwittingly, he sets off a chain reaction. Hunk and Pidge look to Ryou next, both of them brighter-eyed than any human being should be able to manage at this time of day and under these circumstances. While he draws in several deep breaths and tries to settle his nerves, Acxa, Matt, and Zethrid follow suit, focusing on Ryou and hanging on words that he hasn’t even said aloud yet. Lotor shrugs, leaning his head back in defiance of everybody else and staring at the ceiling instead of Ryou, as if Ryou _asked_ for everyone to appoint him the de facto head of this investigation.

Finally, Ezor nuzzles at his cheek. “Hey, baby?” she says. “You’ve got a _plan_ , right?”

“Working on that.” Ryou closes his eyes so he can focus and tries not to get hung up on Lotor’s sarcastic laughter. “Does anybody know where Narti is?”

“She’s back at our place,” says Zethrid. “We can get her here easy, if—”

“No, no, that’s good. Can you tell her to stay where she is? If my brother tries to go to your guys’ place, I don’t want him to be on his own.” He rubs at his temples, then scrubs his free hand up and down his face. “At least one of us should go back to his, Hunk, and Lance’s apartment? Just in case he goes there. Or maybe if he went home and actually did fall asleep—”

“I don’t think he was supposed to get off work until six,” Lance offers. “I mean, he _could_ be back home by now? And he _has_ been taking a lot of day-naps lately? And not sleeping well at night? But it’s not like him to completely ignore us like this when he crashes out?”

“Not unless he’s in a _really_ bad way, which…” Hunk glances at Lotor. “He kinda might be?”

“Considering how dinner with my parents went on Saturday, I would not be surprised.” Lotor seems like this is all he means to say, but when Acxa thwaps at his knee, he looks back at the rest of the group, so he’s more of an active participant in the discussion. Wilting under the glare she gives him, he sighs. “Before I disclose anything to the assembled company? I want it to be perfectly clear that I do not condone what my parents put him through and _I did everything that Shiro would allow_ to stop this from happening.”

“To stop _what_ from happening,” Pidge snaps. “Did your Mother use him as a guinea pig for some unholy chemistry experiment?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes? In the strictest sense of the term, however? No.” When no one gives him a reaction, Lotor bristles and rolls his eyes. “My Mother would not experiment on live, human subjects, Pidge. If anyone from the university discovered it, then she would almost certainly lose tenure, and her research grants, and her entire career—”

“ _No. One. Cares!_ ” Lance groans, leaning his chair back on its hind legs until Hunk shoves him back to the floor. Narrowing his eyes across the table at Lotor, Lance snarls, “What the Hell did your _freak-show_ parents do to Shiro?”

“Nunvil,” Lotor says, as though this explains anything to anybody. “They refused to back down until he had two glasses of it.”

Apparently, it means something to Hunk. Recognition gleams behind his eyes as he furrows his brow. “Wait, like the schnapps?”

“Not _like_ the schnapps. It _is_ the schnapps.”

Cringing, Hunk blenches. “Isn’t that stuff like, _legendarily_ alcoholic?”

Lance grimaces. “Doesn’t it taste like hot dog water and feet?”

“It can be an _acquired_ taste for people who have no Altean ancestry,” Lotor says primly. “More importantly, however? Yes. Its alcohol-by-volume is so notoriously high that some countries ban its sale and production entirely. The United States obviously _doesn’t_ , but—”

“But, you mean they made him do two _shots_ of that, right?”

“Unfortunately, Hunk? I do not.” Flipping his douchebag cowlick again, Lotor huffs. If he stuck to his usual bravado, that’d be one thing. But Lotor slouches in his seat and goes oddly quiet as he says, “My parents refused all of Shiro’s attempts at politely turning down the drink. They also ignored all of _my_ insistence that he meant no offense to my Mother or her culture, but he is a recovering alcoholic and six months sober. Then, while my Father terrified him about how much Altean culture traditionally values respecting one’s host and the parents of one’s romantic partners, my Mother filled an oversized highball glass with nunvil and _demanded_ that he drink it.”

While most of the table’s occupants groan around him, all Ryou can manage is a sigh. Jesus, no wonder Kashi’s been so cagey about what happened with Dean Zarkon and Honerva. Of course he wouldn’t want Ryou to know about that… But he’s been working on this with Ulaz, his tendency to pull back from people when he needs help and to assume that everyone will judge him as harshly as he judges himself… As much as Ezor’s firm, long-fingered grip around his hand is reassuring, Ryou wriggles out of her hold. He slouches onto the table again and kneads at his forehead with both hands. He rubs at both temples and then at the bridge of his nose, but nothing helps the scream that’s building up in his throat, desperate to claw its way out of him. Right now, he doesn’t even blame that scream for longing to get expressed.

Ezor scoots closer to him and, slithering up against his side, she rests her hand on Ryou’s back. Her presence grounds him somewhat better than he’s managing for himself, which might well be a miracle. Her body is a warm, stable presence, and her perfume has a sweet-but-spicy reek of cinnamon to it that helps Ryou to breathe a bit more easily.

“He called Robin and Miranda when we were coming home,” Lotor goes on, voice still heavy, without any of his usual panache. He doesn’t even use some condescending nickname for Kashi’s sponsor and the usual group-leader from his A.A. and N.A. meetings, which should be a sign of the coming Apocalypse, for all the sky hasn’t started raining blood. “We stopped at the mall. Not to go inside, but… I thought that Shiro seemed distressed, and I did not want to drive when he was in such a state. So, I parked my car outside of the Macy’s while he talked to Miranda. She and Robin _both_ tried to reassure him that my parents are a maelström of extenuating circumstances. Also, that being forced to use does not _count_ as slipping up—”

Lance sneers. “Oh, I bet. And while he was getting like that, you just sat there with your thumb up your ass like the world’s most _useless_ excuse for a boyfriend?”

“There is only so much that I could do or say when I am, myself, not an addict and thus _lack_ the firsthand knowledge—” When Lance cuts him off with a scoff, Lotor pales and tightens his grip on his coffee. Something like broken glass glimmers behind his eyes. “Would you like to call Robin or Miranda, and hear the story from _them_? Ryou has both of their numbers. Ask them anything you like about Saturday night—”

“I don’t _need_ to hear them tell me that you’re a completely _shit_ boyfriend to Shiro. Newsflash, Prince Loser? But I already know—”

Lotor smacks his palm against the table so hard that Ryou feels it in his chest, and half of the coffee-shop jumps like somebody just got shot. Good thing Zethrid catches Acxa’s mochaccino before it falls into her lap. Face screwed up with barely-restrained rage, Lotor glares at Lance.

“Shiro could not stop his hands from shaking,” he says, voice so deadly calm, it makes Hunk shiver and look like he might try to hide behind Zethrid. “It was bad enough that he couldn’t hold on to his phone, much less dial anybody. He kept dropping it or clicking things that he did not want to click, so…”

A heavy sigh, and some of the anger unknots itself from Lotor’s expression. “He conducted both calls over speaker-phone. Once I parked, I held the phone for him instead of trying to drive so that it would not fly off the dashboard. I know that calls such as these are often private affairs, but Shiro said that he preferred having me there. I spoke only to let them know that he was _not_ by himself, or when directly spoken to, such as when Robin and Miranda asked for me to clarify certain aspects of the story for them—”

“Okaaaaay,” says Hunk. “But see, then you brought him back _home_ to us on Saturday—”

“Of course I did. We discussed it and that was what he wanted—”

“But he wore his _‘fuck me’_ pants to dinner,” Lance points out, tactful as a brick smashing into someone’s face. “Sorry not sorry, I call bullshit—”

“After the night we had with my parents, I knew better than to make sexual assumptions based on his jeans. I am not a _monster_.” Lotor wrinkles his nose and takes a sip of his drink before explaining, “I told Shiro that I understood if he did not feel up to sex. He agreed that he didn’t. I offered to bring him to my room anyway, if he liked, without any sexual expectations because he sleeps better with someone next to him. He refused and told me that he wanted to go home. I asked if he wanted me to stay, and he gave me his leave to return home and find comfort in my own friends—”

“Which he did,” Zethrid adds. “Well. I mean, it was a combination of us and playing _Twilight Princess_ until Acxa unplugged the Wii—”

“Okay, but _my_ point is…” Hunk narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Lotor walked Shiro up to our apartment and everything, so how come we’re only hearing about the nunvil _now_?”

Lotor allows himself a deep, steadying breath. With the air of someone who is realizing far too late that his choices might well have led to a wreck on the Interstate consisting of twenty-five cars, four eighteen-wheelers, a herd of dead moose, and Fall Out Boy’s tour bus, he says, “Shiro asked me to keep quiet and not to disclose what happened. He said that I could talk to Acxa about it if I needed to, which I did, and promised that he would tell the two of you or his brother about it himself, if he felt like needed help. Clearly, he did not uphold _his_ end of this agreement.”

“Oh, I am _sure_ ,” Lance huffs. “So, now you’re trying to make this into _his_ fault? What the _fuck_ —”

“ _Lance_ ,” Ryou snaps, still massaging his temples. “This isn’t helping, so would you _kindly_ shut the fuck up?”

On one hand, this has the desired effect of making Lance stop talking.

On the other, though, Ryou could really do without most of their motley crew gaping at him as if Kashi’s here, and sober, and just told them all about how, on a family trip to Disneyland when they were eight, Ryou asked their parents why he’d seen every Princess _but_ Anastasia or about the most embarrassing depths of tweenage crush on Christina Aguilera. In such a situation, Ryou would counter by telling the group about his brother’s still very-much-extant fantasies about being Sir Ian McKellen’s sugar baby, or the three-year period of their childhood when his brother refused to accept that Luke and Leia are twins, not the original trilogy’s endgame romantic couple. Passing the buck like that _never_ fails to shove attention off to Kashi. He might not even mind it, either. He handles such embarrassment more gracefully than he does vulnerability and letting people care about him.

Unfortunately, the predicament they find themselves in is not so easily resolved. Trying to come up with a plan on the fly like this is bad enough on its own. Trying to organize a group of people like this, bring them all together and assume leadership, the way that Kashi can? That’s even worse, and trying to do both of these things at once is making Ryou feel like he won’t succeed in keeping his dinner down. But Ryou has to pull himself together so he can pull this off. He _has_ to, because his brother is out there on his own somewhere — his _only_ brother, one of the only people in the world who Ryou is certain that he loves — and right now, Kashi needs him.

“Okay,” Ryou mutters. He still feels like he’s ready to puke, but he keeps on pushing forward. “Kashi is _definitely_ going to be in a bad way, after all of that, so he _could_ be at home and being irresponsible but mostly safe—”

“Uh, no offense, man?” Hunk sighs. “But you don’t _really_ believe that, do you?”

“Of course I don’t. Come on, it’s a bigger long-shot than Carrie Fisher ever sending us a birthday card. But we haven’t ruled out the possibility that he is currently at home, in bed, with his phone turned off because he wants to mope in private for a little while. Which still really isn’t _good_ , but relative to what could be going on? It’s an alternative that I’d gladly accept.”

But, right. Planning. Assigning duties. Getting this shit done and getting Kashi home. Ryou sits up straighter and tries to focus.

Somehow, he manages to make himself tell them, “So, Lance? You go east. Look for him around the record store and that neighborhood. Matt and Pidge, you guys go look around the community center and Church. It isn’t his favorite bar, but if I know anything about my brother, then he’s in a bad enough mood that he won’t _care_ where he’s drinking—”

“Also, they never clock my fake ID,” Pidge chirps.

“As one of Dr. Iverson’s TAs, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” Ryou sips his coffee so he can relocate his center. “Acxa, west. Look for him around the Guitar Center and the liquor store over that way. You _might_ try Stop-N-Shop? But he probably isn’t there. Zethrid, you go south from here. I don’t know what all’s around there, so don’t get your hopes up too far, but he might’ve gotten it in his head to wander somewhere new. Lotor, go uptown. Go look around his gym, and the bookstore, and _definitely_ check Moonstruck. If any of you find him, bring him back to his, and Hunk, and Lance’s place. Whatever he says he wants, wherever he says he wants to go, don’t listen. Bring him there.”

While Ryou’s pausing to collect himself again, Ezor noses at his cheek. “What about you and me and Hunk, baby?”

“First, I need to call Sven. He has to go make sure Slav eats dinner and doesn’t burn our place down. And I need him to let me know if Kashi goes there. Given Slav, it probably isn’t likely, but if he tried it, Slav might get distracted needling him and forget to tell me…” Ryou sighs. “Either way? After that, you, and Hunk, and I are going to look for Kashi at the apartment. If he’s not there, we’ll text the rest of you. Then, we wait for him to get back and one of you two tries to keep me from climbing up the walls.”

“Well, not to sound like Fred from _Scooby Doo_ , but?” Lance slaps his knee and tries his best to look like he’s steeled with resolve, not dead terrified and likely crying on the inside. “We’ve all got our temporary fearless leader’s orders. Let’s split up, gang.”

*** * ***

When Shiro’s phone angrily informs him that it’s gotten down to twenty percent battery life, he dismisses the message. He pauses only long enough to turn up the brightness on his screen, then quietly goes back to his game. He gets the ten percent battery life warning message in short order. Soon enough, _Candy Crush_ freezes up and his screen goes dark with shutdown animation flashing in its center. Then, the phone gives up and croaks.

Sighing, Shiro slides it into his hip pocket and slouches further onto the bar. He only minds his elbows enough to keep from knocking over his half-gone drink. Counting the heap of lime rinds on his napkin, Shiro’s nearing the bottom of his sixth. He’s had two glasses of water to go with the bender he’s getting into, but it hasn’t stopped him from finding a warm and slow feeling that usually comes along en route to what he’s really after. Idly rubbing at his eye and then his cheek, he hums “Careless Whisper” because it’s stuck in his head again, and it’s a good song, so whatever. The part of Shiro’s brain that still hasn’t succumbed to the tequila tells him to keep the lyrics to himself, but he keeps his voice down enough and there’s barely anyone in the bar right now.

This isn’t the best intoxicated state to be in, but tonight, it’s gonna have to do. Shiro would need to get well and truly _wasted_ to properly forget how much he’s gone and ruined everything again. He can’t do that right now. He has to drag himself back home, eventually, and there are already gonna be enough consequences for getting as drunk as he is. Making everything worse might be Shiro’s specialty, but everyone else in his life is loath to accept that. They’ll be upset at him for drinking in the first place, and while a seventh Diet-Coke-and-Cuervo isn’t horrible, getting too close to blackout wrecked most definitely would be. So, Shiro tries to take number seven a bit more slowly, still humming Wham! and trying to make this drink last.

Unfortunately, having so few people in the bar means that Shiro has nowhere to hide when he spots a familiar figure wrapped up in a familiar black trench-coat, with an equally familiar long, purple ponytail and cowlick bouncing as he looks around the room. Lotor spots Shiro easily, because of course he does. Once he’s picked out his mark, he’s at Shiro’s side in a flash, sitting backward on his stool and leaning back, resting his elbows on the bar. It’s the sort of position that he’d use when he’s in the mood to get hit on by someone other than his boyfriend, showing off how tight his jeans and shirt are on his body, screaming to the world how hot he is.

He frowns at Shiro, but apparently, can’t do his boyfriend the kindness of looking angry. No, not tonight. The one night lately when Lotor’s temper would be welcome — when Shiro _deserves_ for someone to take his head off, fight him about his terrible choices and remind him that they’re terrible, snap at him or yell at him or tell him that he’s an idiot for pulling a stunt like this — Lotor has to decide that he doesn’t feel like doing that. Tonight, apparently, Lotor has to go wide-eyed and kind of pale, and he has to open and close his mouth without saying a damn thing, as if his entire capacity for charm has vaporized.

Finally, with a deep breath, he settles on something that Shiro would more expect to hear from Lance: “Hello there, Beautiful. What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this.”

Which would actually be reassuring, in a distant sort of way, if Lotor’s voice didn’t sound so soft, and sad, and _scared_. If he’d just pull out an edge like he usually has — something snappish or playful or sarcastic or otherwise more like _himself_ — then that deliberately tacky pick-up line would put Shiro’s mind at ease. But as it stands, Shiro sighs over the rim of his glass and shakes his head.

“God, I must look _pathetic_ …” Shrugging at Lotor’s wrinkled nose and bemusedly furrowed brow, Shiro tells him, “You’re being _gentle_ with me.”

That makes Lotor tilt his head. “What else would I be with you, at a time like this?”

“Pissed off. Exasperated. Possibly a little betrayed, as in, like?” Shiro huffs, and it takes him a humiliating amount of time to think about what he means to say. “I dunno, as in, you don’t want me to be a loser, since it’d prove your parents completely right about how much better you deserve in a boyfriend, and here I am, you know?”

Shiro blinks at Lotor’s expression, which looks a little like he only has the vaguest clue what Shiro’s talking about and mostly like he just sucked on a lemon. Letting his longer fringe droop in front of his eye, he slouches even closer to the bar. He means to stay sitting up like the adult that he’s supposed to be, but Shiro can’t deny: his forearms look like they might make a good pillow. This is where he should have something clever and sensitive to say, something that puts everything as right as it can be when he’s off the wagon and settles whatever inside of Lotor is making him look so soft and uncharacteristically vulnerable.

While he’s mulling over whatever ghosts of options that his mind can currently wrap itself around, Lotor turns to face him properly. Shiro flinches as Lotor reaches toward his face, then groans at his own stupidity when Lotor only tucks his bangs behind his ear.

“What happened, darling?” he says, fixing those beautiful, blue eyes on Shiro. “I thought Robin and Miranda helped calm your mind—”

“Yeah, they did, it’s not like — I know I didn’t slip up with your parents—”

“So, what happened?” He brushes his fingers through Shiro’s bangs, and even knowing full well that he doesn’t deserve this, Shiro can’t help leaning his head toward Lotor’s delicate hand. “I can only conclude that _something_ must have, for you to properly slip up like this. Not to mention giving a horrible fright to everyone who cares about you. Save Robin and Dr. Iverson, I suppose, but that will only last until your poor brother tells them about what’s gone on tonight.”

“Oh, God. Ryou’s beside himself, isn’t he. And kind of a mess, probably.” Shiro doesn’t phrase it as a question because it _isn’t_ one. If he knows anything about his brother, then it’s that Ryou is going to be a tangled jumble of emotions over this latest mess that Shiro’s made for everybody. Still, he cringes when Lotor nods for him. “I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry? I wish I could say that I wasn’t thinking? As if that’d somehow make it better? But I _was_ thinking—”

“You usually are, when you do things like this—”

“I didn’t _want_ to let myself do this? But then, a different part of me _did_? I just…”

He means to sigh, but Lotor cups his cheek before Shiro can exhale. Instead of coming out how Shiro wants it to, the sound he makes quivers more like a whimper. Maybe everything would be so much easier if he’d cry already and get it over with. But Shiro’s eyes aren’t stinging like they might give him that relief. Unhelpfully, Lotor continues giving him that unexpecting, _soft_ expression that’s so unlike his usual and makes about as much sense to Shiro as the idea that anybody wants to have him around, and Lance and Ryou’s fondness for Han Solo over Luke Skywalker.

“Had a bad session with Sophie today,” he admits. But Lotor doesn’t recognize her name at first, so Shiro adds, “Dietitian. The specialist whose job is telling me, like… What I’m doing wrong about eating. Helping me with my appetite issues. Which I _knew_ was gonna go badly today, but… Then it _did_ , and in some ways that I did not see coming, I didn’t even know what to do, or say, or…”

“You’ve been _depressed_ ,” Lotor points out with an offended huff. “Of course you’ve had trouble keeping up your appetite, lately. Is understanding that _not_ a part of her job?”

Trying to explain how that isn’t entirely what happened — Shiro knows that’s how he should handle this situation. It’s not fair, letting Lotor carry on with an inaccurate assumption about why his boyfriend’s upset. But the truth of things is a complete mess, more so than everything else already is. Shiro doesn’t need to provide any further evidence of how much better everyone deserves from him. Ignoring it won’t make the evidence go away, but at least Shiro might not need to think about it for a while.

“She _did_ understand it, in a way? I think? It was hard to tell…” For all Lotor’s touch is nice, Shiro’s losing his ability to focus. But in the hopes that Lotor won’t feel like he’s being lied to, Shiro only pulls back enough to look down at his drink. “Felt like she was saying, I don’t know?”

“How much have you had to drink, Shiro?” When he hears the answer and about how Shiro hasn’t had dinner, Lotor hums pensively. “I realize that this suggestion may be futile, possibly self-defeating? However, please try not to think too hard about today’s events until you sober up.”

“It sucks when realizing that you feel hungry or not feels like an _accomplishment_.” The truth sucks in its own way, too. As Shiro finishes his drink, he couldn’t say which option is worse.

“You have, for the past few months, been horribly depressed,” Lotor reiterates. “Which is not your fault. That said, it does mean that we are not currently in a good place for you. So might I propose that we pay your tab and go home?”

Probably a good idea, Shiro supposes. “Can we go to your place? I’d rather deal with Hunk and Lance hungover than drunk.”

“I’m afraid not, darling. Your brother gave quite specific orders before sending us out to search. Whoever found you must return you to your own apartment.” Lotor quirks his shoulders in the face of Shiro’s quizzical expression, as if the only thing he has going for him is committing to his unperturbed façade.

He rests a hand between Shiro’s shoulder-blades and leans in close. “Ryou is worried about you. More than the rest of us by a considerable margin. I understand that you would prefer not to see him in your present condition? But…” Gingerly, Lotor presses his knee into Shiro’s thigh. “If you put off dealing with him, it will upset him further. Precedent also says that you won’t feel better either, avoiding him like this.”

As much as Shiro wants to dispute that point, his heart sinks in his chest because he knows he can’t. For now, he’ll just be grateful that, when he digs through his messenger bag, Lotor doesn’t point out that Shiro always carries a charger and a cord for his phone. He also overlooks the fact that, last year, Shiro invested in a spare battery pack, and one of the protective cases that keep the phone going longer when you charge them up. Moreover, Shiro got his hands on these things specifically so he wouldn’t kill his battery and be out-of-contact. All three of his battery-life-extending accessories are in the bag with Shiro’s journals, the books he’s reading right now, spare pens, the thin Post-Its that he uses as page-markers, a couple of his mp3 players and two sets of headphones, a few spare tubes of lip-chap, and the wallet, which has gotten off to the absolute bottom of Shiro’s bag because of course it has.

_Of course_. As if Shiro needs any further help in making an absolute mess of everybody else’s night.

Going without a reprimand for now isn’t much to celebrate, Shiro guesses. Realistically, he _deserves_ for his boyfriend to call him out on how he only falls off the radar like this when he deliberately ignores the rules that he and Ryou have had in place since their parents died. But all Lotor does is wrap an arm around Shiro’s waist, once he’s gotten to his feet, and gently thank him for coming home without putting up a fight.

*** * ***

While they’re waiting for news of where Kashi’s gotten off to, Ryou comes up with hundreds upon hundreds of things to say when his brother gets home. Some of them are kind and sweet and ever so sensitive, the sorts of things befitting the perfect brother that people try to make Ryou out to be. Others are scared and angry, laced with bitterness and vitriol that Ryou would definitely regret saying in the morning.

Some of them, Kashi certainly wouldn’t appreciate, but not for his own sake. After so many years of taking his namesake Grandfather’s side on the alleged uselessness of therapy, he’s come around about it. After complaining about the shrinks at rehab every time he had a chance to call, griping about how he didn’t feel like they were listening to him and how one in particular “wouldn’t let” him forget how “stupid” it’d been for him to fall for Maurice, Kashi really likes this Ulaz guy who Miranda recommended. He feels _comfortable_ and _safe_ with Ulaz, like opening up is something that he can manage more easily rather than something he needs to be dragged to, kicking and screaming and trying to get out of this process, however he can.

The progress that he’s made is undeniable, besides. Kashi doesn’t check the locks on every window five times a night anymore, completely certain that Maurice will find him again and that he wouldn’t be able to resist. He still fake-smiles more often than not, but that’s been true for as long as Ryou can remember and it’s felt like Kashi’s been doing that less often, recently. He still bangs his head against the wall sometimes, and other times, he tugs his hair too hard, but he’s slowly learning to check himself and pull back from hurting himself. He’s been talking to Laura again, finally shaking off the thought that one of his oldest friends didn’t want to hear from him, that she’d think he’s an idiot for falling in love with someone who abused him and cut off his contact with practically everyone but Ryou.

Moreover, Kashi stayed clean for six months until today. He had a rough summer — perpetually exhausted, nigh on anhedonic, spacing out here and there and everywhere, watching his favorite _Star Trek_ episodes at four in the morning, then calling in at work because he couldn’t sleep — but toggling the balance of antidepressants will do that. So too will skipping doses of them, as Lance found out Kashi was doing when he “accidentally” opened the wrong bottle of pills sitting on their counter. As much as Ryou normally hates indulging Lance, he hasn’t cared to call the invasive, nosy little loudmouth out on violating Kashi’s privacy like that because it got them to address the bigger problem sooner than they might have. He remains Ryou’s least favorite out of Kashi’s friends (though he’d still be a better boyfriend than Lotor), but when Ryou and his theory needed evidence, Lance came through and dredged it up.

True, Kashi didn’t like being confronted about this. He absolutely hated the aftermath of having extra sessions with Ulaz and doing so-called “emotional inventories” about why he’d stopped taking his meds, why he hadn’t let anybody know about it even though he knows better than to stop taking them unsupervised, what needs his old antidepressants hadn’t properly addressed for him, and so on. Despite his reluctance, Kashi cooperated and he’s been taking his new meds faithfully. Around this time, two years ago, he was telling the inpatient clinic’s shrinks that his suicide attempt six weeks previously wasn’t important and hadn’t meant anything, and then called Ryou and got offended that his brother “took _their_ side on this” instead of his.

Even at his lowest points this past summer, Kashi was _terrified_ by any suicidal ideation. More than once, he worked himself into a panic attack or a crying jag because he didn’t want to feel that way anymore. He wanted to live and feel excited about living. A far cry from the voicemail he left before he choked down thirteen hits of Vicodin with Cuervo, and a welcome change.

Ryou doesn’t want to take any of this away from his brother, he really doesn’t. If he did, Kashi might drag his feet about finding a new therapist and who knows what could happen in the interim. Once he found a new one, Kashi could shut down and non-compliantly lock them into borderline-uselessness, the way he did with Dr. Hall, back in Chicago. The side-effects of that aren’t hard to imagine, but God help him, Ryou cannot handle thinking too hard about them. Not tonight. Not unless he wants to crack so much that he becomes no help to anybody.

Fact is, in all the other times that Kashi’s stumbled off the wagon, he hasn’t pulled a stunt like this. He’s stretched the truth, equivocated, and outright lied. He has pointedly evaded questions, allowed people to assume whatever they like without correcting them, and tried to cover his tracks with varying degrees of success. He’s made himself sick on purpose, because he thought he’d _“be in less trouble”_ for backsliding that way as if any of his problems can be deemed better than any others, and as if other people being upset is even remotely the point.

But despite all of that and everything else he’s done, Kashi hasn’t gone out, almost definitely on a bender, hidden himself from everyone who cares for him, only bothered to read one person’s texts, then turned off his phone entirely.

They had an entire summer where, depressive downswing or not, he didn’t try so hard to fake like everything was fine and he had everything together. Now, he’s back to concealing how he feels and keeping things from people so that nobody has the whole story or even enough of it to help him in any meaningful fashion. He’s back to shutting out everyone who cares about him while he tears himself up inside, as if the past two years of progress haven’t even happened. Maybe he hasn’t fallen back to square one, exactly, but Ryou can’t be certain of that, yet. If his Kashi is badly off enough, then he could very well be off alone somewhere, slitting his wrists or hanging himself, or who even knows what else. He’s creative. He can find a way to kill himself with just about anything, if he really puts his mind to it.

Even if Kashi’s emotional state hasn’t gotten that bad yet, he could get there in the future without some manner of intervention. If this Ulaz guy is really all that Kashi cracks him up to be, then why have they gotten to this point in the first place? If he’s really a good match for Kashi, if he’s really giving Kashi the sort of treatment that he needs to keep getting better, then why is Kashi out by himself, wandering around who-knows-where, almost certainly off the wagon and making who-knows-what kind of mess out of himself?

God, Ryou feels sick with himself for thinking that. He _knows_ recovery is a process, and he _knows_ that he can’t pin everything about this incident on a single cause. But no matter how much Kashi likes Ulaz, maybe part of the underlying problem _is_ his brother’s therapist.

As much as he’d rather not have had tonight’s events come true, it helps somewhat that Ryou isn’t the only one who’s out of sorts. Unable to find his center, Hunk makes tea for want of something to do with his hands. But that only calms him down for so long, so he takes to tidying up the kitchen, pushing things all over the counter-tops and trying to save it from messes that don’t exist outside whatever his OCD is telling him. By the time he gives up and flops into an armchair, Hunk doesn’t seem to have gotten much help from cleaning.

On the sofa, Ezor sighs and cuddles up to Ryou’s side, drapes her long, slender legs over his lap. Shaking out her shockingly orange pigtails, she puts her head on his shoulder as a silent reminder that she wants to be here for him, should he want any comfort or someone to listen to him vent. Which Ryou appreciates, he does, and he knows that Ezor being so quiet is rarely ever a good sign from her. Usually, she only gets like this when things are so awful that she can’t manage any extra energy for anything, much less her typical, terminally bubbly demeanor.

“I’m saving my verbal capacity for my brother, _Oophaga pumilio_ ,” he says, hoping that it might reassure her somewhat. He’d leave it at that, if not for the bemused-looking frown that Hunk gives him. Looking over at him, Ryou gets a twisting feeling in his chest that screams about how he isn’t obligated to clear up why his affectionate nickname for Ezor is what it is. But of Kashi’s friends, Hunk is one of Ryou’s favorites — enough so that he’d gladly count Hunk as one of his own friends, if he knew for certain that Hunk wouldn’t mind — so, Ryou explains, “The scientific name for strawberry poison frogs. They’re beautiful animals. They can seem innocent and harmless. But, in actuality, they are _quite_ toxic. Incredibly dangerous. Nothing to be trifled with.”

“Just like me,” Ezor chirps, picking up her head and giving Hunk one of her grins that gleams as if she’s a particularly impish cat who’s just been left unattended with a whole mansion full of easily unlocked birdcages and horridly fragile, impossibly expensive, irreplaceable but useless knick-knacks. Most of the time, Ryou loves this face of hers. He still loves it, now, but he can’t muster as much enthusiasm for it as he could under better circumstances.

Quirking his lips doesn’t even help him give her an appreciative smirk. Mostly, it makes Ryou’s mouth hurt.

For a brief moment, Hunk looks like he might throw up. Ultimately, though, he only gives them a shake of the head and an indulgent sigh. “You two could be a completely _terrifying_ power-couple if either of you was really into that,” he says. “Like, seriously? You guys could fuck up _so many_ of the things and leave everybody wrecked, and I know that I, for one, would not want to get on your bad sides. If you two felt like being a terrifying power-couple, I mean. Which I’m also really, really glad you don’t.”

Ezor gives him a mock-pensive hum before declaring, “I’ll take that as a compliment, sweetie.”

Which Ryou _agrees_ with, but he doesn’t have the extra brainpower to handle this discussion, at the moment. Which nobody should blame him for, if anyone asks for his opinion, because this entire evening has gone from mildly nerve-wracking to so downright terrifying that Ryou feels for Hunk and his borderline non-existent gag reflex. Ryou has no idea what’s keeping him together or keeping him from screaming into a pillow, save possibly for that Shirogane stubbornness that neither he nor Kashi has ever successfully shaken off.

Hell, Dr. Iverson isn’t even here and hasn’t been in the middle of tonight’s events, but he’s still showing signs of wear and tear. He texts Ryou to please let him know what happens with Shiro and keep him abreast of the situation. The _“please”_ might not mean anything too special on its own. Dr. Iverson has a well-earned reputation for grumpiness, but he doesn’t turn truly impolite until someone pushes him. But he asks straight out if Ryou wants to call in sick tomorrow and offers to ask Lauren to cover for him, so Ryou can focus on his brother and his own well-being.

As much as he appreciates the courtesy, and the fact that Dr. Iverson has saved him from the rabbit-hole of trying to make himself to the responsible thing and ask for tomorrow off, Ryou doesn’t breathe any easier until Lotor texts the group to say that he’s found Shiro at Moonstruck. “Easier” here having the meaning of, “Not by much, but at least Ryou doesn’t have to fight his lungs each time he takes a breath” — but that’s probably the best Ryou’s gonna get tonight, so fine. He’ll take it.

When Lotor finally gets Kashi back to the apartment, Ryou forgets every comment that he thought he might make. Forgets what he wanted to do when Kashi got home. Forgets how to make his legs work, or that’s what it feels like.

What is he even supposed to say in this situation. Hunk’s on his feet before Ryou’s even certain what he wants to do, and Hunk scoops Kashi into a hug while Ryou’s slowly disentangling himself from Ezor. Once he’s gotten himself up, he swallows thickly, blinks over at the sight that Hunk and Kashi cut together. For all Kashi’s taller, he’s slouched against Hunk’s chest and belly, so limp that he might as well be a rag-doll, saying nothing while Hunk babbles about how scared everybody was and how glad they’ll be to know that he’s okay. With his arms dropping onto Hunk’s shoulders, Kashi only barely hugs him back before pulling back and mumbling something about his sneakers and wanting to sit down.

Kashi toes out of his shoes without any apparent issue, refuses both Lotor’s offer of assistance and Hunk’s. He doesn’t even put a hand on the wall to steady himself. No doubt, he walked in more or less straight lines all the way back from the bar, a mite distractible but not unbalanced. Without catching a whiff of the tequila that he no doubt has lingering on his breath, anyone who doesn’t know Kashi very well might mistake him for stone-cold sober. Unzipping his hoodie, Kashi reveals not one of his old t-shirts, but instead another sweater that hangs off him, almost as if he borrowed it from Ryou. He puts up no resistance as Lotor shepherds him over to the sofa. As he flops there and slouches onto the armrest, all Kashi does is sigh and drag his fingers through his loose, white forelock.

Something thick feels stuck in Ryou’s throat as he skulks into the kitchen. Hunk’s getting a glass of water for Kashi, so as much as Ryou wants to lean on the counter and rub his temples until his brain remembers how to engage with other human beings, he can’t. Fortunately, he can get the kettle on without thinking. It’s an autopilot process: rinse the thing out, put new water in, blink at the controls before remembering which knob turns on which burner, then fold his arms over his chest and slump where he wanted to go anyway because Ryou can’t be judged for staying here while the stove’s running.

The only downside to this plan is the fact that Ryou has to listen to what’s being said out in the common room but can’t participate comfortably. He could try, but he’d need to raise his voice in a way that he hates doing, unless he didn’t want the rest of them to hear him, in which case what would be the point of chiming in. For the most part, Hunk’s questions are perfectly expected. Is Kashi feeling okay — well, no — wait, he doesn’t need to answer that, ‘cause he pretty obviously isn’t feeling okay and nobody would expect him to, considering, but really, how _is_ he feeling? Where did he go tonight? Was it only Moonstruck or did he wander to, oh Hunk has no idea, anywhere else that’s possibly of interest?

“I didn’t get high, if that’s what you’re asking. Only drunk,” Kashi says, not exactly shouting, but speaking more loudly than he needs to. As if he’s trying to make sure that his brother hears him. Sure enough, when Ryou glances toward the other room, Kashi is glowering in the direction of the kitchen. “’ve had enough trouble eating anything lately without pills completely withering my appetite. At least alcohol has calories.”

Ryou inhales sharply and clamps a hand around his own elbow. He’s heard this tone of voice from his Kashi before. It doesn’t sound any better now than it did when he came back from his first meeting with Lotor and pointed out that his breath would only smell like dinner, Diet Coke, and cum. That night was far preferable to this, in retrospect. At least Kashi stayed sober and was more openly passive-aggressive when he insisted that Ryou should’ve been _proud_ of him for _swallowing_ after giving a very sober blow-job to a beautiful stranger with a purple ponytail.

Now, though, he has Hunk and Lotor ostensibly lapping up the idea that of course, Kashi’s only talking to them right now. No doubt, the two of them probably think he isn’t looking toward the kitchen at all, but right up on the verge of spacing out, the way that he sometimes does when he drinks and gets too upset to handle his own feelings. Until the kettle whistles, Ryou forces himself to take deep breaths that do nothing to make him feel better. Pouring the water over two bags in Kashi’s _Star Trek_ mug, he clenches his jaw. He knows what he needs to do.

Clearing his throat, Ryou hands over his brother’s tea, then drags his eyes over Hunk, then Lotor, and finally Ezor.

“I need to ask a favor of the three of you,” he says. “Would you kindly clear out for a little bit?”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Lotor drawls, curled up at Kashi’s side and looking too tired to mock Ryou properly. “How can you ask us to leave at a time like this.”

“Because I need a few moments alone with my brother, that’s how.” Ryou sighs, hugging himself and narrowing his eyes at Lotor as if this will make him decide to make himself scarce already. “Look, I appreciate that you brought him home. Thank you for doing that. I realize that tonight has been difficult for everybody. But Shiro and I need to talk _without_ any interference—”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Lotor snaps. “You are simply trying to throw me out of an apartment that _is not yours_ —”

“Yes, obviously,” Ryou deadpans. “That’s why I asked Hunk and Ezor to leave as well—”

“—And you are trying to remove me because you have some asinine, inexplicable personal vendetta against me—”

“I doubt that I’m the first person who’s wanted to punch you whenever you say anything—”

“—Never mind that I found him. Or the fact that I talked him into coming home. Never mind that he is my _boyfriend_ —”

“Yeah, and he’s my _brother_. I was here first, I have seniority. If you _really_ care about him? If you _love_ him? Then get out of here—”

“Who passed away and gave _you_ the right to decide how I feel about Shiro?” Lotor sneers, eyes gleaming like the edges of the obnoxious swords that he collects. “The mere fact that you shared a womb with him does _not_ mean that you know anything about _my_ feelings for him, or that you can tell me that I don’t—”

“Oh my God, will you please _stow it_?” Kashi groans. It gives way to a whine while he grinds at the bridge of his nose and rubs his thumb along his scar. Right as Ryou’s letting himself have a victory smirk, Kashi glares at him and adds, “ _Both_ of you.”

Which seems more than a bit unfair, but Kashi ignores Ryou’s irritated huffing and his scowl in favor of flicking Lotor’s cowlick. “It’s alright,” Kashi says with a small smile that is obviously fake and too wan to seem as playful as he likely wants. “You’ve done enough for me tonight, okay?”

“Forgive me, _anektra_. But I don’t find that statement terribly reassuring, at the moment.”

Lotor screws his golden face up in a pout that’s better suited to a spoilt six-year-old on their cousin’s birthday than to an admittedly intelligent, unfortunately creative, twenty-six-year-old rock guitarist who’s trying to reason with his drunk boyfriend. It’d be an amazing rendition of Veruca Salt, if he could commit to that petulance instead of letting his lips quiver with uncertainty and something that looks almost like concern.

Even that could all be an act, though. If Ryou’s not allowed to call him a pest, then Lotor has to be a palimpsest, coated in so many layers of façade, dissembling, equivocation, and outright bullshit that even he probably doesn’t know anymore what the Hell he’s really on about. He could have thrown out that Galran term for _“beloved”_ as a manipulative ploy, a way of shoving Shiro’s face into feelings that Lotor allegedly has and yanking his heartstrings so he’s less likely to argue. He could butt at Kashi’s forehead with his own not because he truly wants to remind Kashi that he has people here for him, but because that reminder would serve whatever endgame Lotor thinks he has in mind.

Whatever the truth is, watching this turns Ryou’s stomach as much as it makes Hunk coo like he’s reading one of his Grandma’s forwarded chain-emails about adorable, courageous pets. It takes effort to hold back on the _“ugh”_ that pushes at his throat when Kashi goes in for a kiss and Lotor looks away, muttering that he’ll put his lips on Kashi’s again once he sobers up. At the moment, any evidence that Lotor might genuinely care about Ryou’s brother is an awful nuisance that Ryou doesn’t want to deal with.

The only upside is that Kashi gets Lotor to relent. He hesitates for long enough to glare at Ryou while tucking Kashi’s white forelock behind his ear, as if making a silent point about how Kashi loves him even if Ryou wishes that his brother didn’t. Stomping to the door, he snaps his fingers by way of telling Hunk and Ezor to follow him. While Hunk says they’ll just wait in the hallway, in case the twins need them for anything, Ezor pecks at Ryou’s cheek and promises to put Lotor in a headlock if he tries anything. She coaxes an almost-smile out of Ryou — the closest that he can manage to a real smile, at present — and musses a hand over his hair before making her exit.

Ryou’s gonna need to do something extra nice for her, this week. Maybe he’ll be able to reserve them some tickets for opening night of the next _Hunger Games_ movie. Ezor would love that, and Ryou doesn’t mind the series but loves making his girlfriend happy.

As soon as the door slams behind her, though, Ryou’s left adrift without a map or any idea where he’s supposed to kick off this conversation. Kashi picks the _Star Trek_ mug up off the end-table and sniffs at his tea. Deciding that it’s not quite done steeping yet, he sets it back by the lamp and drags his fingers through his forelock. Whatever bulbs he, Hunk, and Lance have put in illuminate the living room sufficiently, which must be nice when they aren’t drawing Ryou’s attention to the rings beneath his brother’s eyes. Are they darker than usual? Or maybe bigger? Is Ryou imagining either of those things? How can Ryou have _missed_ this? He knows Kashi often has trouble sleeping. He _knows_ what it looks like when Kashi isn’t getting enough rest.

Something cold and guilty twists through Ryou’s chest as he spots something that he can’t be making up: Kashi’s cheekbones protruding further than they should. Not as much as they’ve done before, which is something to hang on to, Ryou guesses. Even so, the increasingly concave look his brother’s getting is unmistakable. In this unforgiving light, Kashi’s cheekbones cast shadows over the rest of his face that make Ryou want to go deep-clean his and Slav’s apartment, top to bottom, until he shakes off the feeling that he’s loused up everything that matters most in his life or his hands start going raw. Whichever happens first.

This sight that Kashi’s cutting would be bad enough, but apparently, the universe _needs_ to rub Ryou’s face in further evidence that he hasn’t noticed something horribly important. While Kashi’s playing with his hair, Ryou can see more than he likes of the bone in his brother’s wrist. Then, there are all the layers that Kashi’s cloaked himself in today. Under the sweater’s gaping collar sit two slips of black, the upper one loose and probably belonging to one of his Kashi’s band t-shirts while the lower one makes Ryou gulp and hope that he isn’t trembling too visibly. He recognizes it as one of the long-sleeved t-shirts Kashi doesn’t wear too often. The neckline sits higher on him than most of his shirts, removing all chance of someone being able to catch a glimpse of his collarbone.

The question is whether he’s hiding it because, like his cheekbones, his collarbone has started sticking out more than it should, or because he’s trying to keep people from seeing the cigarette burns that Maurice gave him. Tangentially, there’s the question of whether Kashi’s breaking out so many layers to conceal his body from the people who love him, or just to keep himself warm while October tries to strangle everyone with chills and cold snaps. How could they get back to a point like this? How could Ryou fail to notice that this was happening? How could he even—

“We should be good now,” Kashi says, cutting into Ryou’s thoughts without explanation, as if his words make perfect sense. All he does in response to Ryou’s furrowed brow is shrug and clarify, “They’re gone. Probably not trying to eavesdrop anymore, either. You can lay into me without fear of judgment. And you should probably start soon, or Lance is gonna get home, and Hunk might not be able to wrangle him upstairs to Matt and Pidge’s place, then we’re—”

“Okay, wait up a minute,” Ryou splutters. “I’m laying into you for _what_ , exactly?”

Kashi sighs, scrubbing at his temple. “You’re mad at me and you’ve got every right to be—”

“Oh, for the love of… I am not _mad_ at you, Kashi—”

“Really? Because you sound pretty mad, little brother.” He quirks his shoulders without quite shrugging and his languid, doleful expression looks more hollowed out than his cheeks. “Quit holding back. Nobody could blame you for being angry—”

“Then what do I care if the others hear me — wait, dammit, _no_.” Ryou shakes his head. “This isn’t _about_ me, that is not what we’re discussing—”

“Maybe it _should_ be what we’re discussing. I’m just saying, your feelings matter—”

“So, let me have them, then. If they matter _so much_ to you, stop trying to tell me how I feel!”

Snapping like this probably does very little to support Ryou’s claim that he isn’t mad. Kashi’s needling him like they’re fifteen again and he’s trying to rile Ryou up and trick him into admitting that he can’t get through a robotics team meeting without blushing tomato-red because Michelle complimented him, or smiled at him, or did the cute little fist-pumping dance she did whenever they worked out a particularly tricky problem with their robot’s design. Worse, this game of his is working. Ryou’s been _letting_ it work.

In the name of maybe putting a stop to this, Ryou takes a few deep breaths. They don’t make him feel any steadier, but at least he keeps his voice down and keeps it calm while asking, “Can you tell me what happened tonight? Yes, you’re drunk, I guessed that before you said as much to Hunk. But I want to hear the sequence of events in your own words. It’s _important_ to me.”

For all he rolls his eyes and burrows back into the cushions with an _ugh_ , Kashi keeps his grousing to a minimum. “Session with Sophie went bad this morning,” he says. “Got lunch with Lance. Mr. Phalen thought I seemed sick or something and sent me home early—”

“Define, ‘sick or something.’” Yes, Ryou knows better than to during interrupt a sharing moment, but he doesn’t have the patience for any of Kashi’s equivocating, at the moment. They need to be on the same page or they’re gonna spend all night chasing their tails, hunting for an alleged snipe, and otherwise getting absolutely nowhere.

Kashi nods in understanding. “He thought that I seemed jumpy. And tense. And then I may have spent fifteen minutes in the back-room, trying to breathe and telling myself not to go throw up my lunch. Which I didn’t, by the way. Throw it up, I mean. I did, definitely did the thing, I just, I…” Waving a hand to indicate that he’s blanking on the word he wants, Kashi thwaps himself on the nose. He makes himself blink, a purely physical reaction, but doesn’t even furrow his brow at this little annoyance. “Y’know. Spending the fifteen minutes.”

“How can you sound so blasé about this,” Ryou says before he can think better of it. “I just… I don’t understand?”

“Nobody _expects_ you to. Because _you’re_ not a total head-case.” Which could easily give way to another round of attempted baiting, but instead, Kashi presses forward: “Anyway, after Mr. Phalen told me to go rest, I went for a walk. Wound up at the bar. Debated going in or not, then decided in favor of going in. I was on my seventh Diet-Coke-and-Cuervo when Lotor showed up. Then we talked a little, and then we came back here, and then you kicked him out because you’re _mad_. Except you don’t want to admit to being mad, so now the two of us are talking, and then I don’t know what happens next because it’s your move.”

_Oh, for Christ’s sake…_ “This isn’t a _game_ to me, Kashi—”

“It’s not a game to _me_ , either.” Kashi deadpans, “I am, in fact, _very_ concerned about how much you are repressing your anger—”

“Stop telling me I’m angry! I’m _not_ angry!” Ryou bristles under the lopsided smirk he gets, even though he’s earned it for continuing to sound pretty angry. But they’ll have time for that later, after they address the important things. With a huff, he asks, “So, what happened with Sophie.”

“What do you _think_ happened with Sophie?” Kashi groans overtop of Ryou’s supposing that he could come up with ideas but, as he wasn’t there, he doesn’t know. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kashi bites out, “What happened was I’ve lost weight again and Sophie got upset. Which is fair enough, right. I mean, what else is she supposed to do when a client with a restrictive eating disorder loses weight, it’s not like I’ve got any leg—”

“You’ve had sessions like that _without_ falling off the wagon, though.” Ryou frowns. Tries not to narrow his eyes too much, lest Kashi feel like he’s being placed under a microscope. “What made this one different?” Instead of getting an answer, Ryou has to watch his brother shrug as if he’s getting out of this by pretending to be clueless. “Do you _want_ to do things the hard way?”

“I dunno, do you particularly _want_ your roommate to starve or burn down your apartment?”

“Sven’s already looking after Slav, so I’ve got _all night_ for this. We can do things the hard way, if that’s what you really want, Kashi- _niichan_.”

“Well, I don’t have any answers that you wanna hear.” Grunting softly, Kashi drops his head onto the back of the sofa. “And you can’t will them into being, either. Not even by manipulating me with your…” He hugs himself, kicks over his messenger bag, then grinds his foot against the coffee-table. “Y’know, your passive-aggressive, cutesy little brother nicknaming thing, like I have _no idea_ whatsoever what you’re doing.”

Rather than dignify that (not entirely inaccurate) accusation with a response, Ryou asks, “Was it leftover stress from meeting Lotor’s parents this weekend?” He waits for Kashi to shake his head. “What about how they made you drink that nunvil—”

“How’d you know about that?”

“Lotor told everyone after you turned off your phone. So, was that what changed how you felt after seeing Sophie?”

“Eh?” Kashi raises one hand and tilts it up, then down.

“Alright, so the nunvil wasn’t the only factor. Has _Lotor_ been stressing you out any more than usual, or doing anything particularly—”

“ _No_. The only thing he’s been especially high-strung about lately was introducing me to his parents, and he was worried about that for _both_ our sakes.” Kashi could simply leave it at that, but instead, grumbles and decides to add, “What really stresses me out is the way my _brother_ can’t talk about my boyfriend without implying that he’s the _new_ Maurice. He’s nothing like Maurice, okay? You know what the two of them have in common? They’re tall, they’re gay, they’re wealthy, they’re Galra and come from former noble families, you don’t like them, and they’ve had their dicks inside me. _That’s it_.”

At least five different responses crash into Ryou’s brain, all vying for his attention. The one he goes with is, “I didn’t say anything about Maurice. Or about Lotor having anything in common with him. That’s all on you. I only asked if he’s been more stressful than usual because you’ve said that he can be a handful.”

“I only meant that comment _sexually_.”

“If you were Lance, I might believe that. But since you _aren’t_ …” Ryou tugs his fingers through his hair. “Was something different about your session itself, or what happened in it? Like, I don’t know… Did Sophie say something unexpected? Did she get frustrated, or… Was there something about your food journal that she didn’t…”

One of the precious few upsides of Kashi being drunk: he loses most of his ability to filter his reactions, if you know him and you really pay attention. The tell is quick. A flash of _something_ that makes him gulp and purse his lips, makes his eyes go ever-so-slightly wider, as if they’re kids again and his namesake caught them snooping around Dad’s home-office in search of their birthday presents. True to form, Kashi reins himself in. Hugs himself tighter and as he shakes his head, forcibly keeps his breathing something that vaguely resembles regular. Like a version of regularity finger-painted by a pair of four-year-olds who didn’t really understand the concept.

Damage done, though. He can’t take back that expression or unmake its significance.

Trying to keep his own face neutral, Ryou edges closer to the coffee-table and his brother. “What was wrong with your journal?” he says. He lets Kashi shake his head again, insist that nothing was wrong and he has no idea what Ryou’s talking about. He stifles himself when Ryou holds up a hand. “How long have we known each other, Kashi?”

He balks. “Our whole lives? Arguably longer? Depends who you ask about that… the human _in utero_ consciousness or not?”

“So, why do you think that I don’t know how to read you? Am I doing some…” Ryou slouches, frowning down at Kashi’s foot, still right up against the edge of the table. He should probably object to his brother doing that, point out how it might be a form of self-harm for Kashi. Instead, Ryou’s mouth starts babbling on his behalf, “Or did I, I don’t know? Have I been, like, ignoring you and not catching myself doing it? Or did I make you feel like I don’t _care_? Like I don’t notice when you—”

“ _No!_ Jesus, Ryou — God, no, how can you even _think_ I’d…” Trailing off, Kashi leans forward and gapes at Ryou as if he’s the one who’s just gotten accused of not caring about his brother. Tequila-soaked or not, though, he manages to recognize _something_. He swallows thickly and nods, then drags himself to his feet and mumbles, “Don’t read into that, I’m not… ’s not that I’m saying, ‘Yes’ about you doing anything like that, you _haven’t_ , it’s more…”

As Kashi climbs over the coffee-table, Ryou can’t help silently marveling at the amount of physical coordination his brother has even when he’s drunk. It’s not like Ryou hasn’t seen examples of this, before. How many times did the lacrosse team assholes from high school nominate Kashi to lie to any adults about whether or not they’d been drinking? Between Kashi’s unimpeachably earnest delivery, his baby-face and its alleged innocence, and his ability to keep his movements together while intoxicated, no teachers or parents ever called his bluff. On one of Ryou’s visits to Chicago, he watched his brother convince a cop not to write him and Mark a citation for drunk and disorderly conduct because, according to Kashi’s story, he was sober and making sure Mark got home from the bar.

Still, even having witnessed that incident and several others, Ryou scrunches up his face in confusion as Kashi makes it to his side. He blinks uncomprehendingly at his brother’s hand, patting his shoulder. Kashi isn’t seeking any extra stability for himself; the gesture is only meant to reassure Ryou. Of what, exactly, Kashi isn’t being clear. But it’s more concerning when Ryou looks back up at him and Kashi gives him a bleary, faded-looking attempt at a smile.

Ryou’s heart screws itself up and twists in his chest like it’s trying to dodge somebody’s knife. His shoulders go slack as he meets his brother’s warm, glimmering eyes, and Ryou tries to say something. He tries to find _anything_ to say because Kashi’s trying so hard to console Ryou when _he’s_ the one who’s had some kind of crisis lately. All Ryou comes up with is a load of dead air, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly, until he feels like a dying fish. Inching further into his personal space, Kashi lets go of Ryou’s shoulder in favor of cupping his hand around Ryou’s full cheek and soft jaw.

“You help, okay? You help me so much, brother. I don’t have enough words for how much you help me.” Kashi holds Ryou in place and doesn’t break his gaze. It’s like the eye-contact is keeping him alive, until he decides to nudge his forehead into Ryou’s with a sigh. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, Ryou. None of this is your fault. I’m sick, and I’m broken, and I’m a mess, right? Like, an absolute _disaster_ — but I’d be worse off if I didn’t have you because _you. Help_. Even when you maybe aren’t trying to. Even in ways you don’t recognize, but they’re _real_ , alright?”

As Kashi pats his cheek, Ryou can’t help wondering where the _“But”_  is gonna fall in this tirade. Wrinkling his nose, he drags his eyes up and down every millimeter of Kashi’s face, from his eyes to the slight flush on his cheeks, from the scar across his nose to the faint smile that he refuses to give up even though it quivers like it could snap in half at any second. Searching like this, unfortunately, does not point Ryou in the direction of the other shoe or give him a forecast on when it might decide to drop.

In lieu of that, he gets Kashi gently mussing his hair. “I need to go wash the bar-stench off of me until I feel like a person again,” he says, too softly for the situation. Knowing him, this is meant to relieve some of Ryou’s anxiety, but it only makes him prickle. “Won’t be too long. Promise. Just gonna go grab a quick shower—”

“No, you’re not. We aren’t done here yet.” Ryou frowns. There are so many things going on and so many things in need of having _“bullshit”_ called on them. Clashing around inside his skull, the issues all cry out for Ryou to address them first. But as he balls a hand up in his sweatshirt’s sleeve, he goes with asking, “What happened with Sophie and your food journal?”

“ _Nothing_. Nothing important, anyway, hmm? It wasn’t a big deal and she wasn’t out of line, I was and then I lost my head about it because I’m _stupid_. But I’ve got my meeting tomorrow night and Ulaz on Thursday, so I’ll sober up, get back on the horse, and then we’re good. It’s all fine.” As if this somehow confirms whatever point he thinks he’s trying to make, Kashi ruffles Ryou’s hair again. “Chill out. I’ve fallen off before, the point is in the getting back on, yeah? And I’m getting back on in the morning. Don’t worry about it so much—”

“You spent tonight drinking by yourself, ignoring your texts, and finally turning off your phone,” Ryou points out. “And you honestly think you can convince me not to be concerned about this, why? Because you tell me, ‘Chill out, don’t worry, this isn’t the first time that I’ve slipped up’?”

“I didn’t turn my phone off, the battery died.” Kashi sounds far too matter-of-fact in saying that. It sounds rehearsed, and rather like it’s hiding something. Worse, he tries to distract Ryou, adding, “But yes. I do expect to convince you to calm down, because everything is going to be fine—”

“So, you admit that it’s _not_ fine right now—”

“No, it _is_ fine right now.” Kashi rolls his eyes, and groans, and _God_ , that sound makes Ryou feel an itch to scream or punch something, no matter how much he’d hurt his own hand. “You’re mad that I slipped up again, and that’s fair. No one could blame you. But aside from that—”

“I’m _not_ mad! And definitely not about you slipping up—”

“ _Aside_ from you being _mad at me_ , everything is fine. As fine as it’s ever gonna get, at least, and once you relax about my battery dying—”

“Quit lying to me, Kashi! Your phone’s battery doesn’t just _die_ like that. Other people’s? Sure. But not _yours_.”

Ryou’s face flushes hot and he glares at his brother. His breathing’s getting heavy, he feels so sick on such a bone-deep level that he might throw up, and as his arms curl in tighter around him, his fingertips dig harder at his flesh. The pain from his own grip keeps Ryou focused, keeps his mind right here, in this moment, but doesn’t do anything to ease the pressure building in his chest. His whole body feels like it’s on fire, just from looking Kashi in the eye while he’s standing here, slouching at the hips, blinking at his brother with nothing to say for himself.

But fine, if he needs prompting, Ryou can easily give him that: “How many things do you keep charged and in your bag _specifically_ to prevent that from happening? How many tools have you bought so you won’t ever break the rules that _you_ made about not missing each other’s calls or texts? You made a choice and turned your phone off, respect me enough to admit it!”

This, finally, gets Kashi to look away. He ducks his chin and lets his white forelock droop over one side of his face. His hand hasn’t left Ryou’s shoulder and he rubs that spot ever-so-gently. Yet, he refuses to look Ryou in the eye while saying, “Try to turn it on if you don’t believe me. It’s in my bag’s front pocket. Have fun, plug it in when you’re finished. I’m gonna go take a shower.”

Letting go of Ryou’s shoulder, Kashi pulls back. He sighs, starts heading for the bathroom. For a moment, Ryou furrows his brow at the wall, then at the couch and coffee-table. Each breath is a chore and shocks through him, practically electric, as if his lungs have turned to stone until the air hits them. Listening to Kashi grunt like he’s working a crick out of his neck, Ryou feels like he’s had his insides all ripped out and only half of them got shoved back in. Where the fire was before, Ryou goes cold, like he’s had liquid nitrogen dumped into his chest. He can’t stand by and let this happen, can’t let Kashi get away with acting like tonight means nothing. But what the Hell can Ryou _do_?

Another discomforted noise from Kashi shakes him out of it. Doesn’t matter what he does, so long as he does _something_. Turning on his heel, Ryou darts to his brother’s side. When Kashi tries to keep moving toward the bathroom, Ryou grabs his elbow. He only lets Kashi drag him along for a few steps before digging in his heels. They’re by the loveseat, which is quite far enough. So help Ryou, this nonsense is stopping _here_.

Kashi sighs. “Let me go, Ryou.”

“Nuh uh.” Ryou tugs his arm, then tugs harder when Kashi resists. Lost weight or not, Kashi likely has the strength advantage. But Ryou’s heavier. His size is working for him, and so is his resolve. Tightening his grip on Kashi’s elbow, he says, “You can take a shower _after_ you talk to me about what’s going on.”

“ _Nothing_ , okay? How many times do I have to tell you that nothing special happened!”

“Say it all you want, that doesn’t make it true.” Ryou huffs.

“I slipped up because I’m an idiot, okay? That’s it!” Kashi tries to pull away, but Ryou jerks him back and makes him groan. “Oh, _come on_. Is it really so hard for you to just believe that I’m an idiot? After everything I’ve done? What about right now?”

“What _about_ it,” Ryou snaps. “The only stupid thing you’re doing right now is thinking I’ll give up on you literally ever—”

Kashi cuts Ryou off, letting a high, tense sound out of the back of his throat. Not quite a sigh and not quite a scream. He wrenches his arm out of Ryou’s grip. Yanks hard enough that he sets himself stumbling in circles. When he stops, he’s facing Ryou, back to the bathroom. When Ryou tries to crowd in on him again, whispering that it’s going to be okay, he’s here and he wants to help, that’s what brothers are for, please just let him help, Kashi tries to snarl. Makes a whimpering sort of noise instead. But his hands hit their marks exactly, slapping into Ryou’s shoulders as Kashi shoves him away.

Ryou’s breath hitches and he has to cough to get it started up again. His arms tremble. His fingers twitch. His mouth curls up into a scowl, drags his whole face along for the ride. For a moment, Kashi falters, goes wide-eyed. But he shakes his head, shakes himself out of it, like it’s just that easy. Like he so desperately wants to believe that nothing’s happened and maybe that gesture will really get him out of this. He says again, sounding like he needs to reassure himself more than convince his brother, that he’s going to take a shower now, whether Ryou likes it or not. When Ryou edges back into his personal space, Kashi pushes him away again. Harder, this time, yet he doesn’t put much distance between them.

A shudder goes through Ryou’s chest and down his arms. A snarl claws its way out of him, makes him think of wolves trying to take down a moose on a nature documentary and big cats duking it out for food or territory. Kashi furrows his brow, but insists once more that he’s going. Next thing Ryou knows, his hand hits Kashi’s cheek with a sharp, sick _crack!_

Ryou gasps. From the sound ringing in his ears and more so from the sting that’s setting fire to his palm. Wide-eyed, he opens his mouth. It shocks him when his breath rushes in easily like normal, and his brain stutters, trying to catch up with reality, with what he’s just done.

Kashi, for his part, gapes like he can’t believe it either. Looking at the floor, he brushes his fingers down his face. Is he trembling? He probably is, but Ryou can’t tell, and Jesus, why wouldn’t he be? After everything he’s been through? After _Maurice_ and what he did to him? But Kashi doesn’t back away as Ryou creeps back toward him, holding up his hands in a gesture of hopefully surrender, hopefully resolution to this unwanted conflict. He doesn’t look up either, or react at all. Not good, but at least he isn’t pulling away.

“I’m sorry, Kashi, please, I’m _so_ sorry, I didn’t…” Ryou sighs, cringes at how much he sounds like how he’s imagined Maurice must have sounded. But he can’t think of anything else to say for himself, and he can’t make anything better by saying nothing. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, or scare you, I wasn’t thinking, I just snapped and I’m sorry, please, tell me what you need, I’ll get you anything, I’ll _do_ anything—”

Kashi groans and cuts off that apology. Instead of saying something, he steps back, halfway hunched over, and drags his eyes up and down his brother’s body. Lord only knows what he’s taking in from that view, or what he thinks he’s seeing, or what it means to him that Ryou’s new sweatshirt has _Kaltenecker University_ embroidered on the chest in red but doesn’t have a picture of Benjamin the Cow, their unofficial mascot who Kashi loves so much. He breathes slow and heavily, not panting but as if trying to make himself calm down. He straightens up and looks Ryou in the eye like maybe, he’s ready to talk about things _properly_.

Then, in a flash, Kashi whacks his fist against Ryou’s jaw.

“What the _Hell_ ,” Ryou bites out, whining more than he likes and rubbing the spot where Kashi hit him. It doesn’t hurt that badly. Ryou can’t be certain, but he might not even bruise from this. But even if he doesn’t, he _can’t_ leave this alone. “I apologize, so you _punch_ me?”

“You slapped me,” Kashi snaps. He uncurls his fist, holds up his palm in the face of Ryou’s objections. “I _meant_ that you can do better. Come on, I’ve _seen_ you fight before. Christmas break, my first year in Chicago? The playground behind the elementary school, that second night I was home? You let loose and wasted Bryce, don’t act like you didn’t.”

Ryou nods, because technically, that’s true. Kashi isn’t wrong about Ryou kicking Bryce’s teeth in.

He is, however, ignoring the story’s most important part: the fact that Ryou only went at Bryce that way at all because he’d tried to attack Kashi. Not physically, but his words cut Kashi deeply, which seemed so much worse than punching him, at the time.

At first, it seemed like an okay scene to let play out. On one hand, Kashi asking where Bryce’s foster brother had gone, the one who Kashi had tutored in math, because he’d promised to spend time with the kid over the holidays. On the other hand, Bryce showing the true colors that Kashi had tried to tune out through their time together on the lacrosse team, demanding to know why Kashi even cared what happened to said ex-foster brother, it wasn’t like he was anything but an obnoxious, annoying, smug-ass little headache, who fit in best with the roaches in the cupboard underneath the stairs. Not that Ryou liked what Bryce had to say, but if it got Kashi to finally realize how much better he deserved in the way of friends, then so be it.

Except Bryce turned on Kashi, next. Jumped all over the undercut he’d gotten while at school, shaved sides with the top part left long and a particularly fluffy tuft of hair artfully flopping past his eyebrows. He came for Kashi’s tighter jeans and the black t-shirt that hugged his torso like maybe he’d bought it a size too small or used the wrong setting on the washing machines in his dorm. Flicking the back of his hand at Kashi’s chest, Bryce pointed out what was printed on the shirt: the photo of George Michael in his leather jacket and aviator sunglasses from the cover of _Faith_. At first, Kashi only arched an eyebrow and pointed out that he _liked_ George Michael.

_“He’s a fag, man,”_ Bryce groused. _“You know that, we told you so. Or what, did going to Chicago turn you queer, too?”_

Ryou doesn’t remember too much of what happened after that. He remembers jumping in and demanding to know why it mattered if Kashi was gay or not. He remembers the itch in his arm and his fist balling up of its own accord, prepared for what came next in ways that Ryou wasn’t. He remembers taking Bryce to the blacktop, and Kashi shouting while he tried to pull Ryou off. Then, there’s a blank space until they got back home and Kashi tended Ryou’s lip and knuckles, checked whether or not his nose or ribs seemed extra-sensitive or possibly even broken.

None of which is particularly helpful while Ryou’s staring, totally agog, at the brother he’d always fight for — who he’d risk life and limb and everything he has to protect — and feeling the sting that Kashi’s fist left on his jaw, and listening blankly as Kashi rants at him, exhorting Ryou to hit him as hard as he can, like they’re in fucking _Fight Club_ :

“Come _on_! Don’t just stand there, huh? I can take whatever you’ve got. Don’t hold back.” He holds his arms out, begging Ryou to come at him.

Mostly, Ryou can’t stop staring at his brother’s midsection, looking for any signs of his where his chest and hips might be. The at-least-four layers he has on conceal his body well. A bit _too_ well, in Ryou’s mind, but right now, he’d think the same thing about a flimsy t-shirt if it did anything to stop him from getting a proper fix on _exactly_ how much Kashi’s thinned out, this time.

“Ryou,” Kashi drawls. “Come on, don’t just slap me like some soap opera housewife! Hit me like you _mean it_. I know you can do that, little brother. Ryou, you’ve got consent, okay? Permission granted, I _want_ you to hit me. _Ryou_ , look alive, I _know_ you can hear me—”

Of course Ryou can hear him. Why is that even a question? Ryou frowns at Kashi’s thighs, first because of what his brother’s saying, and then because Kashi’s jeans are massively unhelpful, refusing to give Ryou any _good_ idea of what Kashi’s legs might look like underneath them. They’re an older pair, loosened up everywhere and worn out enough that he’s sewn black cloth patches over both the knees. On the right, he has the cover art from _American Idiot_. On the left, the logo for that Suicidal Tendencies band he inexplicably grew a fondness for back in Chicago.

Shaking his head, Ryou snorts. Yes, _Suicidal Tendencies_ — that’s clever, if Kashi picked those jeans on purpose. Unfortunately, even if he didn’t, it’s an appropriate name for anything related to tonight. After keeping himself more or less together all evening, after forcing himself to act like he had everything under some semblance of control, Ryou can’t help smirking.

He doesn’t notice the silence, the lack of ranting, until Kashi shoves his shoulder again, jostling Ryou without making him move anywhere. Looking back up, Ryou blinks at a bemused attempt at grimacing. Bless his heart, Kashi is trying so hard to look livid, to look furious, to look like he means business and might try to fight Zethrid one-on-one. It makes Kashi look like he’s pouting even harder than his boyfriend, and that, in turn, makes Ryou snicker. He fights his face about not grinning because that this isn’t the time or place for that. But judging from the strawberry red blush erupting on Kashi’s cheeks, Ryou doesn’t quite succeed.

“What’s so funny,” Kashi snaps, pushing at Ryou yet another time. “Huh, little brother? The Hell, okay? What’s so _funny_?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Ryou manages to say, despite the laughter flying out of him in short bursts. Stopping when he pulls it back only to start up again because of the way that Kashi’s glaring at him or how aghast he looks. “Nothing, okay? Literally nothing about this is any kind—”

“Then what’re you laughing for!”

“Involuntary physical response!” Which only gets Ryou laughing harder. Same for the offended look that Kashi throws him, while he’s glowering. Another shove at his shoulder, and Ryou curls in around himself while a deeper laugh shakes through his chest and belly. His eyes sting like he might cry, and his insides get that frozen-over feeling to them again. “I’m not— laughing—”

“The Hell you _aren’t_ —”

“— _At_ you— _okay_? I’m not laughing at you—” Not that this stops Ryou from snorting and chuckling despite himself, or stops Kashi from arching a single, skeptical eyebrow. This, too, makes Ryou give up another sound. “I mean? There _is_ a humor, don’t you see it? Look at us, Kashi- _niichan_ —”

“I _am_ looking,” Kashi says, voice low and weirdly calm. “All I see is you lying about how you’re laughing at me—”

“Not at you! At the situation, I just?”

For a moment, Ryou buries his face in one of his palms. Not to hide the way that he’s still laughing — he _can’t_ hide that, Kashi can hear him — but because maybe he can shake himself out of this, pinching his nose or his cheeks. He goes in hard, dragging his thumb underneath one eye. The pressure doesn’t hurt too much, but still makes Ryou draw in a sharp breath. That cuts the laughter off, manages to stop him before he gets too far gone or starts hyperventilating. So, he digs at his bones and flesh even harder, and the pain helps pull him back. The warm rush that comes after the pain subsides? Hell, that almost feels good.

He can almost see why self-harm has been such a problem for Kashi in his recovery. Why it’s been so damn hard to make him stop all the little things he does to hurt himself on purpose instead of letting himself try to feel better. If pain helps to keep him grounded like it’s helping Ryou, then of course he’d be loath to give it up. Of course he’d cling to his self-inflicted pain. He spent so much time feeling like nothing else could help him, enduring pain that he couldn’t stop or control on even the most basic levels—

Except this thought only makes Ryou get started laughing again. God, isn’t he supposed to be the well-adjusted twin? Has he or has he not been trying to drag Kashi into talking about his problems tonight? Doing the thing that everybody says is better for him, more emotionally healthy and better keeping with the spirit of recovery?

“Don’t you _see it_?” Ryou gasps for breath as Kashi smacks his bicep. “Just, it’s kinda funny? But also terrible? The two of us, right now, it’s like…”

Grinding at the bridge of his nose, he feels like he might break it, but Ryou gets himself to calm down again. His breaths shiver as he draws them in, but he makes himself meet his brother’s eyes to tell him, “You just… You’re one of the only people, Kashi, one of the only people, ever in my entire life, who I’ve felt certain that I love? Literally ever, Kashi. One of the _only_ ones. And here we are, and you just… You don’t even _want_ …”

Hearing this, Kashi flinches as if someone’s smacked him. He bows his head and trembles as if someone’s there behind him, holding him down, making him bare the back of his neck. If that’s how he feels about it, then Ryou knows who said someone is. The mere thought of Maurice makes something cold and thick and sticky well up in Ryou’s throat — but it galvanizes him as well. Sets something in his chest on fire all over again and makes him grab for Kashi’s shoulder. Not to push him away, like Kashi’s been doing, but with a mind to pull them closer together again and to give him a gentle, hopefully reassuring squeeze.

His brother doesn’t recoil from that touch, and God, Ryou hopes that it’s a good thing.

“Kashi, _please_ ,” Ryou says, barely above a whisper. “I just meant, like… You’re so important to me, and I love you so much, and here we are, anyway. You’d rather try to make me punch you than open up and let me _help_. I know there’s so much that I don’t know, a lot more that I can’t understand for you, and so many things that might not get easier? And this wasn’t funny — like, nothing about _any_ of this is funny — but I was just realizing it all, and the way it came together in my head, it just? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Ryou trails off, watching Kashi nod in silent understanding. When Kashi nudges at his wrist, Ryou lets go of his shoulder. There’s probably a reason for this. Maybe inching toward Ryou’s chest is Kashi’s current way asking him for a hug. It’s not what the conversation that they need to have, but it’s better than trying to pick a fight, so Ryou opens his arms, ready to welcome his brother into them.

Instead, Kashi pushes back again. Harder than any other blow tonight. He shoves, and Ryou stumbles backward. He hits the loveseat’s armrest, tries to brace himself. But he topples over, landing on his back with a gasp, then a groan. He doesn’t hear anything crack, he thinks. Even so, his head butts up against the other armrest. His neck smacks into a throw-pillow. Pain claws at him, enough to make Ryou wince but not enough to drown out the sting of betrayal. Or the wave of guilt for thinking like that when Kashi obviously isn’t well. _Oh, for the love of_ —

Two can play this game, though. Head swimming, Ryou still realizes that. When Kashi doesn’t make a quick retreat for the bathroom, Ryou stays put on the loveseat. He whines more than the hurt really calls for, squirms so it looks like he’s trying to sit up and maybe can’t. Kashi’s breath hitches, loud enough to hear, and hesitantly, nervously, he calls Ryou’s name. Tuning out the impulse to comfort his brother, Ryou says nothing. He only groans and lies in wait. Footsteps shuffle toward him. Kashi asks if he’s okay and Ryou wiggles like he would if he were really trying to get back on his feet.

As soon as his toes hit something, Ryou stills. Kashi leans over the armrest, furrowing his brow in concern. For a moment, Ryou gives him the face that he’s probably expecting. Cringing and gritting his teeth and (hopefully) looking like he’s trying to choke back a whimper. But he drops it, the next time Kashi says his name. He sets his jaw, he wrinkles his nose, he glares up at his brother. He only doesn’t let himself properly appreciate his brother’s confusion.

Instead, Ryou kicks him twice, letting his foot land wherever it will. The first blow isn’t gentle — it makes Kashi gasp and something in Ryou swells with angry pride — but its only purpose is to make a point. For the second one, though, Ryou puts in everything he can. That’s what Kashi wanted, isn’t it? So Ryou kicks his brother as hard as he can.

Pulling himself up, Ryou sees Kashi forcing himself to stand upright, rubbing a hand over his thigh. He lets out a hiss as he works his fingers over the muscle there. While Ryou sits on the armrest, Kashi nudges his hoodie, his sweater, and his t-shirts up and out of the way, revealing a hip and the waistband of his jeans. Even belted, they ride lower on him than usual, and while Kashi prods at himself to check the injury, Ryou can see more hipbone than he likes. He sits there quietly, hands folded in his lap. When Kashi looks at him, eyes burning, Ryou makes a noncommittal noise, as if asking what else his brother expects from him.

“What the Hell was _that_?” Kashi spits out.

Ryou shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sorry, I couldn’t really aim in that position. I kinda hoped I’d hit your crotch—”

“You _scared_ me, Ryou! I thought I seriously hurt you!”

“Well, I guess that makes us even,” says Ryou, snarling. “I was scared that you might’ve killed yourself tonight—” Kashi groans, and Ryou lets him, quirking an eyebrow by way of asking if he’s finished. When Kashi pouts, Ryou adds, “I was terrified of that, in fact. And all you want to do is take a shower and tell me everything is fine, as if I have _no reason whatsoever_ for worrying about—”

“Are you _ever_ gonna let me live that down?” Getting a throw-pillow lobbed at his face doesn’t make Kashi flinch, not even when it hits him. He just picks it up and flings it back, rolling his eyes when Ryou catches it. “For the love of God, that was _one time_! I obviously didn’t succeed, since I’m still here to make you miserable. Why can’t you let it go already?”

“Because you attempted suicide.” Ryou grinds his teeth. He doesn’t want to let his voice sound so much like permafrost, like his words could get down to absolute zero. But it’s hard to pull off when he feels like somebody’s replaced his soul with ice. “You attempted suicide, your _abuser_ was the one who saved you, and now? You’re talking about it in the same tone as, ‘Oh my God, stop telling people I wanted a twincest ending to _Star Wars_ , we were kids, Dad didn’t tell me in advance that Luke was Leia’s brother.’ Like that’s the same thing as deliberately overdosing. Also, because I love you, but since I guess that doesn’t _matter_ anymore—”

“Of course it _matters_! Why d’you think I called _you_ that day? If you’d just picked up your phone the first time, I wouldn’t’ve even—” He cuts himself off, sighing heatedly. As he drags his hands back through his bangs, Kashi lets a half-baked scream tear out of him. His fingers stay knotted in his hair but he can’t approximate an even voice as he says, “Whatever. It’s not important and I don’t wanna fight anymore. I’m gonna go take my shower already.”

“Oh, like Hell you are,” Ryou mutters to his Kashi’s back.

Hot on Kashi’s heels, Ryou catches his elbow. He must expect this move by this point, because immediately, he tries to jerk himself free. He tugs, but after giving up a few steps toward the bathroom, Ryou pulls back harder. That’s not happening, Ryou will not let it. No matter what his brother wants, Ryou isn’t letting Kashi have his way when that means active self-destruction. When Kashi tries to drag his arm out of Ryou’s grip, hissing about how he won’t be long so let him do this, Ryou huffs and rolls his eyes. He yanks. Forcefully enough that there’s no way Kashi can entertain any mistaken notions of getting out of this discussion.

—Or stay on his own feet, apparently. Gravity gets Kashi’s arm free, this time, and for a moment, everything slows down. He yelps like Rover does when someone accidentally steps on his tail. His legs flail, socks slipping on the hardwood floor. Finally, he crashes to the floor. Clatters onto his back with a _thud!_ so hard, it turns Ryou’s stomach.

Ryou jumps back. But once he remembers how to breathe, he has to check on Kashi, has to make sure he didn’t really hurt his brother. God, no, he only wanted to stop Kashi from walking out on him. He shuffles around, peering down at Kashi. He’s still breathing. Still moving. Wincing, he props himself up on his elbows. One of them lands too close to him. It gets stuck on his sweatshirt, ends up tugging so that Ryou can see how much room Kashi’s body leaves inside his clothing.

Which still doesn’t provide the _real_ answers that Ryou wants. But those take a backseat to figuring out if Kashi’s genuinely okay. Sighing, Ryou pauses, comes to a halt between his brother’s splayed legs and swallows thickly.

“Oh my God,” Ryou whispers. Getting Kashi on the floor should not have been that easy. Kashi may be drunk, but he’s taken down bigger opponents than Ryou while intoxicated. He hasn’t thinned out _quite_ that much, has he? Was it just that Ryou caught him off his guard? Except it can’t be that either, can it? Because he _did_ put up resistance? Except making guesses can’t replace actual firsthand testimony— “Kashi?”

He winces, but nudges himself into sitting up. “If this is being on your _good_ side, little brother,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Then can you please remind me to never, _ever_ get on your bad one? I think I’d die.”

“You could never be on my bad side.” Ryou blinks down at Kashi, at his unreadable, knotted-up expression. “And please don’t joke like that, okay? I know it’s a coping mechanism for you, I get that, but please, Kashi? I just don’t want you to die—”

He cuts himself off, blinking at the hand that Kashi thrusts toward him. Takes Ryou a moment to figure out what his intent here is, then he gives Kashi a small smile. His face remains illegible, mouth screwed up in a not-quite-frown while his eyes go wide, and soft. Dewy without completely tearing up. He quirks his lips like he’s trying to fake a smile and then thinks better of it, letting them fall back where they will, then averts his eyes from Ryou’s. His cheeks flush pink and he mumbles something that Ryou can’t make out.

But it’s okay. Even if he’s feeling bashful, they can work with this. Maybe asking for a hand up isn’t the sort of help that Ryou meant to offer — but this is progress. They’re getting somewhere. Nodding, Ryou edges closer to Kashi. They both wrap a hand around each other’s forearms, and Ryou asks if Kashi’s ready.

He opens his mouth like he means to answer — then his eyes go cold. He purses his lips and, without making a sound, he yanks down _hard_. He doesn’t startle when Ryou squawks or when Ryou collapses against his front. He barely moves when that happens, either.

If not for the way that Kashi grunts when the impact happens, Ryou wouldn’t think his brother noticed anything. Not even the awkwardness of their positioning, with Ryou’s face buried in the layers of clothing hiding Kashi’s chest, his belly half on the floor and half on Kashi’s groin. As Ryou takes advantage of the moment, batting his hand at Kashi’s torso and trying to find flesh and bone instead of whatever fabrics Kashi’s wearing, Kashi sighs impatiently but doesn’t see fit to complain. All he does about anything is shove Ryou off of him and scrambles to his feet. Still crouching somewhat and still intent on escaping to the bathroom, he pushes past Ryou.

Takes a moment for Ryou to turn himself around. But Kashi’s still within arm’s length, so Ryou grabs his ankle and he tugs.

Hitting the floor face-first does nothing to dissuade Kashi. Then again, after how tonight has gone, Ryou’s pretty sure there’s no one left on Earth who could even halfway out-stubborn his idiot genius brother — except, possibly, for Ryou himself. Squirming, Kashi tries to crawl toward the shower he’s so set on taking, but Ryou catches his ankle again. That makes him kick, thrash his legs like he has any way out of this at all. He lands a few blows, hits his feet on Ryou’s soft belly, manages to beat at Ryou’s chest and shoulders while he’s flailing. There might be bruises in a few spots later, but Ryou doesn’t care. Clamping his fingers tighter on Kashi’s leg makes him kick harder, but Ryou _is not giving up_ on this. He _can’t_ , and even if he could, he _wouldn’t_.

The opportune moment presents itself while Kashi’s sighing and grousing about how difficult his little brother’s making this for both of them. He doesn’t go completely limp, but he stops kicking. He slumps forward toward the floor, resting on his elbows.

Inhaling sharply and holding his breath, Ryou clambers up the length of Kashi’s body. He fumbles, knocking Kashi’s hair out of its ponytail as he moves to straddle Kashi’s middle. He leaves some space between his ass and Kashi’s back, just enough to grab him by the shoulder and roll him over onto his back. Maybe it’s not the most necessary thing in the world, but Ryou isn’t going to argue with the back of his brother’s head. This conversation’s going to be difficult enough without being able to see what Kashi does with his face.

This earns Ryou a half-sneering whine, and a would-be grimacing expression, all steely eyes and flushed cheeks, and a mouth that’s contorted in more ridiculous positions than the Russian Olympic gymnastics team. By all rights, both of the face and the sound should be coming from a spoilt, keening six-year-old who didn’t get a unicorn foal for Christmas, not a twenty-five-year-old man who’s intelligent and sensitive and creative, who’s drunk, and sick, and traumatized and, even now, would still give everything he has and more to anybody but himself.

As if he’s really helping his cause, Kashi flails. He wriggles, trying to jerk his hips with enough force to get Ryou off of him. When that fails him, he puts his hands to work instead. He bats hard at Ryou’s stomach, his knees and thighs, his hips. He has no pattern to his movements or his targets, like he’s just smacking wherever his hands happen to land, thinking he can get free as long as he keeps Ryou from pinning down his arms.

Ryou bites back a sigh as Kashi slaps his belly. He chokes down an irritated shudder as Kashi thwaps his arm. God, he really didn’t want to do this — but they won’t get anywhere already if Kashi doesn’t get it through his stupid, gifted and talented, genius head that he isn’t getting out of this. So, fighting not to roll his eyes, Ryou grabs at one of his brother’s wrists. He snatches up the other and swallows another sigh at how easily he curls his fingers around it.

Slamming both of Kashi’s wrists into the floor, Ryou tries to absorb the impact with his own knuckles. However frustrating tonight has been and may yet get for Ryou, Kashi can’t play his guitar if his brother messes up his hands or his wrists. Taking away his music, even temporarily, would be unforgivable. Even if Kashi said it was okay, or said that he understood because he’s being borderline-noncompliant and jerking his brother around and fast depleting the available list of options, Ryou wouldn’t forgive himself for taking away Kashi’s access to the creative outlet that’s helped him most and for the longest time.

Not that Ryou feels too much better about the way that Kashi goes slack beneath him, now. He stops struggling to get his arms free or to knock Ryou off of him. He stops holding his breath while bucking against Ryou or wriggling on the floor in the hopes of somehow unseating him. He doesn’t even keep up his glare or his raging hellcat pouting. With a sigh that’s heavier than anyone their age should ever have to make and seems to come from somewhere deep inside his chest, Kashi relents. Everything about him wilts like it’s taking too much energy to breathe and stay alive, much less keep fighting.

Unquestionably, the worst part is the expression on his face. It’s listless, languishing, and halfway to total blankness. His eyes don’t dull over, but there’s no real spark behind them, either. His hair splays out in a mess behind him, except for the white forelock, which covers one side of his face. At least, it does until Kashi closes his eyes and rolls his head to the side. When he comes back up, the bleached-out section of his bangs is getting wrapped up in the rest of that heap of hair he loves so much. Blinking up at Ryou with only the vaguest sense of comprehension and practically no energy to speak of, Kashi sends a chill straight to the pit of his little brother’s stomach, makes Ryou completely blank on what the Hell he wants to say right now.

Kashi huffs as if he understands whatever expression Ryou’s making at him. As if he gets why Ryou’s going silent, and probably feels like he has some sacred duty to fix it somehow, because he was the one who came into the world first and got named after their Grandfather.

“Why are you doing this, Ryou,” he says, softly and without inflection. “What do you want?”

“What do I— You’re not _serious_ , are you?” That isn’t really a question, not when Kashi looks so much like a ghost. Of course he’s serious, but it’s polite to give him the chance to take that back. To find something else that he might want to say for himself instead. When he doesn’t, Ryou fends off the impulse to roll his eyes. “I want to talk to my brother instead of getting dismissed. I want you to talk to me instead of shutting me—”

“Okay, fine, we’re talking. What d’you wanna talk about?” He gives Ryou a dispirited look that begs him to please make this quick.

“Start with your phone,” says Ryou. “What the Hell were you thinking, letting the battery die?”

“I was thinking I just wanted to be _alone_ for a little while. Which wasn’t gonna happen with y’all texting me, or calling me, or anything…” He lifts his head, but hesitates in the face of Ryou arching an eyebrow. Settling down without banging his head on the floor, Kashi sighs. He seems to anticipate Ryou’s questions too, saying, “I read Lance’s texts so he wouldn’t start thinking he doesn’t matter to me. But I didn’t text him back ‘cause you’ve seen my drunk texts. If I’d done that, y’all would’ve known for sure that I was drinking. Then, I switched on airplane mode and killed the battery playing _Candy Crush_.”

Well, maybe not all of Ryou’s questions. “Why not just turn the phone _off_ , if you wanted to isolate yourself so badly,” he says, letting up on Kashi’s wrists ever-so-slightly, so there’s less of a chance of doing any accidental damage. “Wouldn’t that have been _easier_?”

Kashi rolls his eyes and quirks his shoulders. “Then you’d’ve called me out for turning it off—”

“I’m still calling you out _now_ , though.” Ryou squints, but can’t find any better answers on Kashi’s face. “I mean, yes, switching off your phone would’ve upset me. But now you’re admitting you’d rather put _actual work_ into isolating yourself from us than talk to someone when you’re upset, or text back and admit that you slipped up and might need help—”

Another whine, but this one sounds tired, rather than petulant. Kashi averts his eyes, getting a pensive look about him as he says, “Are we done yet? Come on, you have a class to teach in the morning, you need to be getting ready—”

“I don’t have class tomorrow, actually.” To Kashi’s quizzical look, Ryou explains, “Dr. Iverson got Lauren to cover for my section. When you started ignoring everybody, I asked him if he’d heard from you. Then, I’ve kept him abreast of things because he was concerned. He asked if I wanted to call in tomorrow and I said yes—”

“Oh, my God, Ryou…” Kashi moans as if this is the worst possible thing that could’ve happened to him tonight. “ _Why_?”

“For one thing, I’ve had a very stressful evening, worrying about the most important person in my life—” Which makes Kashi whine and break off their eye-contact again, but Ryou presses on and tells him, “More importantly? You need me and I want to be here for you, so I—”

Yet another round of whining. “That’s your _life_ , Ryou. Quit throwing it away, and over _nothing_ —”

“Says you,” Ryou snaps. “How can you of _all people_ tell me anything about throwing your own life out—”

The next noise to claw its way out of Kashi sounds like it wants to be a sob, but he’s trying not to permit that. Goddamnit.

“Kashi, at the risk of being harsh, because I don’t know how else to ask this?” Ryou sighs and waits for his brother to look at him before he says, “How can you be lying here, in an obvious crisis — which you know that I know is definitely a crisis, one that I want to _help you_ with — and still, you keep holding back, not letting yourself just cry when you need to do that?”

For all Ryou can see the gears turning in his brother’s head, Kashi only manages to shrug and suppose that he doesn’t know.

“I’ve seen you cry before,” Ryou reminds him. “I’ve seen you drunk and crying in the shower with your clothes still on. I’ve seen you crying in a public restroom because you caught some stomach bug from Lance, and puked, and didn’t want it to lead to proper backsliding. I’ve seen you cry because I caught you checking window-locks at three in the morning, even after I’d already had them changed for you, because you couldn’t stop thinking that Maurice would find out where you’d gone and come after you. Did I do something _wrong_ , those times? Or any others?”

He gets a shake of the head for _no_ , which only leaves Ryou with the question, “So, why are you still trying to _shut me out_ like this—”

“Why don’t _you_ get how much _better_ you deserve?”

That question hits Ryou harder than Kashi’s fist hit his jaw. Slams into his chest and burrows in deep, clawing its way down to his heart. Leaves him gaping at his brother, leaves his hands going slack around Kashi’s wrists, for all Ryou doesn’t let go of them just yet.

To his credit, Kashi realizes what kind of effect he’s wrought on Ryou, and the fact that he can’t take it back. As soon as those words burst out of him, he pales, loses most of the color in his face. His breaths shudder and he can’t make his lips stop trembling. He sucks in his stomach — what little he has to suck in, anyway — but not like he’s trying to make his abs seem firmer. If anything, between that and his knees knocking into Ryou’s back, it feels like he’s trying to curl in around himself, but can’t get all the way there while being sat upon.

Earning him further credit, he doesn’t wait for Ryou to ask him what he means. Sure, he hesitates, taking a series of slow, deep breaths — but it’s not like this discussion is particularly easy. Once he’s ready, Kashi forces himself to look Ryou in the eye, saying, “You _do_ deserve better, though. I mean, you have to know that, right? You’re so good, little brother. And I don’t mean you’re perfect, but you’re smart, you work hard, you’re insightful, attentive, and I don’t say it as often as I should? But I’m really proud of you, okay? Of everything you are and everything you do… Mom and Dad would be proud of you too, and I want you to be _happy_ , Ryou, but…”

While Ryou’s not putting up a fight, Kashi jerks his hands out of Ryou’s hold. But he doesn’t go back to hitting or trying to break free. First, he just rubs at his eyes. Twining his fingers up in his bangs, pushing them back and grinding his palms on his forehead, he adds, “But then you’re stuck with me. And you shouldn’t have to be. And I know you’re gonna say it’s not an obligation for you, and you _want_ me around, but seriously, Ryou? I don’t _get it_ , it’s not even, I don’t _know_ what, but how could that even—”

Tugging on his hair again, Kashi cuts himself off with a high, frustrated sound. With a sigh, Ryou rubs at one of his biceps. Lest his brother get any ideas about it being Ryou’s turn to talk just yet, he keeps his words to himself. He gives Kashi soft, hopefully soothing, _shush_ ing sounds, and even those stop as soon as Kashi lets go of his hair. Shaking his head, Kashi folds his arms over his chest.

“All I’m saying is, it’s just… I mean, I don’t get why there’s any argument, but…” Kashi quirks his shoulders. “You’d be better off without me, Ryou. You don’t have to take me to the hospital, or use Ulaz’s emergency line, or anything. I promise, I don’t wanna seriously hurt myself or die or anything else, I just want…” Hugging himself, Kashi sighs again. He sounds both like his heart is breaking, and like he needs a weeklong nap. “Your life would be perfect without me ruining it for you. Without you constantly needing to rescue your hopeless, broken, fuck-up brother. If I’d just get it together and stop being like this, then maybe? But since I can’t, Ryou, I don’t know…”

The worst part in all of this isn’t the words, but the flat, resigned tone that Kashi has while saying them. No bitterness, no vitriol, barely any feeling in the first place. It’s the voice he uses when he says there are some grisly parts of what happened with Maurice that Ryou doesn’t really want to know about in detail.

If he were leveling an accusation, screaming himself raw about some idea where Ryou doesn’t love him or doesn’t want him around, that would be one thing. Maybe it’d be easier to deal with. Ryou would have to fight himself about getting mad or not, which would royally suck, but at least he’d have some idea what to do. At least he wouldn’t be looking down at Kashi blankly, feeling empty while Kashi stares at Ryou’s leg. His eyes glisten, but he still won’t let himself just _cry_ , and Ryou has no idea what he can say or do to get through to Kashi. No idea where to start, much less where to go once he’s kicked things off.

Most of the time, Ryou’s fine with being his own person. But right now, Kashi needs the kind of rousing speech that he can give to other people, and all Ryou can think of is the fact that he needs to say something. Anything. Deep breaths keep him mostly focused until—

“Kashi,” his mouth blurts out for him. “Do you know what the worst…” Huffing, Ryou taps at Kashi’s cheek, then a bit more gently when Kashi makes a mild, discontented noise. “Look at me, Kashi- _niichan_.” When Kashi does that, Ryou says, “D’you know what the worst day of my life has been so far?”

Kashi thinks about it. Shrugs. “The day that you met Slav?”

Ryou bats at his brother’s jawline. “I’m glad you still have a sense of humor. But there’s a time and a place.”

Rolling his eyes without much intent, Kashi’s next guess is, “The day that Mom and Dad died?”

“That’s the second-worst day.” Looking Kashi dead in the eye, Ryou rests a hand on his chest, right over his brother’s heart. “The single, number one worst day of my life so far? Was the day I followed Matt to the record store, it killed the reception on my phone and I missed you, and when I tried to call you back, you didn’t answer. Seven times, with five messages left on your voicemail and I don’t know how many texts—”

“I think it was, like… thirty-seven?” Kashi scrunches up his face, thinking too hard and ultimately concluding, “It was a lot—”

“Yeah, exactly. And after the message that you left me, I… When you didn’t pick up, I thought the _worst_ … That message was just…”

Ryou swallows thickly. There are so many things that he could say about that message, the suicide note that Kashi left for him, voice cracking as he apologized and begged Ryou not to follow him into death too quickly. He could tell Kashi that he still has it saved. That he’s taken extra care about backing up his voicemail — more that he does in backing up anything else — so that he’ll never lose that message, no matter how many times he updates his phone or how many times his phone gets kidnapped by Slav and sacrificed to his insatiable curiosity. He could tell Kashi how he’s never gotten desensitized to that message and how, even two years on, replaying it makes Ryou feel like he can’t breathe, like his entire body’s forgotten how to do that he’ll never get his breathing back again.

He could tell Kashi how many times he’s listened to that message, playing it over and over and over again, remembering the last thing that their Grandfather told him before he died — _“Keep looking out for Kashi, someone has to keep that boy from running himself into the ground over the opinions of people who do not matter”_ — and telling himself that Kashi’s still alive so he hasn’t completely failed in that task, yet.

Ryou settles on splaying his fingers over his brother’s heart and saying, “I don’t know where I’d be without you, either, Kashi. The thought of losing you? It almost killed me. Then I couldn’t get too much relief when you called back. Because it sounded like _he_ was there with you, looming over your shoulder, limiting what you were allowed to say. Worse? It sounded like you were only sorry that you hadn’t _succeeded_. I barely slept that night. Or the night after, either. I was _terrified_ because I don’t wanna lose you, so I promised myself I wouldn’t let you get that bad again, I…”

Kashi lets slip a soft, wobbling, whimpery-sounding noise as Ryou squeezes his shoulder.

Ryou sighs. “I don’t care about whatever else you think that I deserve. None of those things can replace my _brother_ , Kashi.”

For all Kashi nods in understanding, his next move is to nudge at Ryou’s arm with the back of his hand. He makes a limp, morose sort of noise from the back of his throat. But he doesn’t explain what he’s on about, at first. Just keeps batting at Ryou’s wrist and forearm, blinking up at him and expecting him to get with the program. Even as different ideas start cropping up, Ryou doesn’t make a move. For one thing, he can’t be certain what Kashi’s trying to get at and he doesn’t want to do the wrong thing. For another, though, his brother needs to get the point about talking to him. Reaching out. Not making Ryou feel like he needs to be a mind-reader or needs a secret password to talk to his brother anymore.

A plaintive huff and a roll of the eyes don’t get Kashi anything. On the plus, though, he nods as if he’s getting the point.

“Please get _off_ me, Ryou,” he says. “I’m not gonna run, I just want to sit up. _Please_.”

He keeps that word when Ryou scrambles off his stomach. Pushing himself up, Kashi does put distance between them, but only so he can lean against the wall by the rickety shelf where he and Hunk and Lance keep their DVDs. Ryou gives him a moment to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths, then he moves to sit at Kashi’s side. Mirrors his Kashi’s posture, splaying his own legs out in front of him, too.

Kashi acknowledges Ryou’s presence by gently patting at his chubby thigh. God, his wrist looks extra-skinny in comparison. Whether Kashi realizes the same thing or not, whatever feelings he feels he needs to process before he can let himself release them, he can’t get his breaths to stabilize properly. There’s not much that Ryou can do about that, probably. But ruffling a hand over his own hair, he starts idly humming “Once Upon A Dream” from _Sleeping Beauty_. Maybe not Kashi’s favorite Disney movie anymore, but forever the movie that gave him Prince Philip, one of his earliest crushes that either of them can remember.

After a few bars, Kashi sighs and wilts into Ryou’s side, dropping his head onto Ryou’s shoulder. For this, Ryou doesn’t need a verbal request; asking silently works well enough. He wraps an arm Kashi and tugs him in close. It’s not entirely surprising when he doesn’t hug back. A bit sad, yes, but Kashi’s probably running low on extra energy right now.

Nosing at the top of his head, Ryou asks, “D’you think you can tell me about what happened to set you off today? With Sophie?”

“It was stupid—”

“I want to hear about it anyway—”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t manage it, just…” Trying to shake his head makes Kashi nuzzle Ryou’s shoulder. “It was _stupid_.”

Ryou rubs Kashi’s bicep in silence for a moment, reminding himself not to push too hard. They’ve had enough arguing for one night (for the next year or so, ideally), and this is progress. Legitimate progress, too. Kashi is talking about whatever finally set him off, and tacitly promising to tell Ryou more. He just needs some time to collect himself, and Ryou can give him that.

“Would’ve been easier if Sophie’d just called me a liar outright,” Kashi says after a little while. He burrows closer into Ryou’s side, pressing layers of fabric and his hip into Ryou’s soft warmth. “Or _said_ she didn’t believe that stupid journal. Still would’ve _sucked_ , but then I wouldn’t have felt like, I don’t know? So much more of a mess than we already know?”

Grumbling, he curls his legs up closer to his chest and leans on Ryou more. “But it didn’t matter how many entries I got signed by someone else as proof for her I wasn’t cooking the books. Didn’t matter that I haven’t thrown up since that stomach-bug I got from Lance. Didn’t _matter_ that I hate how I’ve lost weight again, when I’ve worked so hard to feel like I was getting my body back and it was _mine_ again, it just…”

Limply, Kashi shrugs. The lack of energy in it feels at odds with the sorta-sigh-but-sorta-sob that he coughs up, but Ryou doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t interrupt while Kashi’s sharing because if he does, Kashi might not get started up again. He kisses Kashi’s scalp and gingerly squeezes at his shoulder, by way of reminding Kashi that his brother’s here for him, reminding Kashi that he’s not alone. However he feels, however scared he is of whichever aspects of the universe, Kashi _never_ needs to be alone and so help him, Ryou’s going to do everything he can to make sure that Kashi always has at least one person in his corner.

Maybe Kashi gets the point and maybe not. Either way, he picks up again, explaining, “So, she starts trying to interrogate me about different potential causes for this, right? And I tell her that none of her ideas sound accurate and of course I haven’t seen a doctor about anything physical lately. The only doctor I’ve seen is _Ulaz_ ‘cause I haven’t felt like I’ve been sick, outside of being brain-sick as usual, but…” Kashi huffs. “I’ve been eating right. I haven’t overdone it at the gym. I haven’t _purged_ , no matter how many times I’ve wanted to, which is still at least a couple times a week, give or take, and it’s _horrible_? It’s like, ‘What if I _am_ broken? What if I’m doomed? What if I feel like this forever, no matter what I do’—”

“You _aren’t_ broken, Kashi,” Ryou cuts in before he can remind himself to keep quiet and let Kashi talk. “Yes, you have problems. Several of them are very, _very_ serious. But you _are not_ broken. No, I don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow or the next day, but I—”

“I love you too, little brother.” Squeezing Ryou’s knee, Kashi silently asks him to please shut up. “But, seriously. Even my appetite hasn’t been that bad, lately. Not _great_ , and losing oatmeal was still a huge blow for me, but I’ve come up with stuff that works. All I can point out that’s different is like, ‘I can’t calm down, even by my admittedly low standards. I can barely sleep and when I do, it’s like my dreams are designed by Hieronymus Bosch and Picasso, then directed by David Freaking Cronenberg. I’m having these weird headaches, and sometimes, they throb so much, it’s like my head could split right open. I’ve been forgetting things, and getting confused more easily, and feeling like I wanna fight everybody. Other times, my thoughts start racing, but they don’t make sense and my whole head feels like it’s full up of cotton balls and molasses’ — which is all?”

Kashi picks his head up, but only so he can thump it on Ryou’s shoulder. “That all happens when I get _depressed_ ,” he says with a heated sigh. “But I’m on new meds, and they were _working_. And it’d definitely be a proper downswing if my appetite was screwed up, but then it’s _not_ —”

Another almost-sob claws its way out of him, then a grateful whimper when Ryou holds him closer. “Except it doesn’t even _matter_. I’ve been working _so hard_ , I don’t want to be like this anymore and I’ve been _working_ on it. But I still dropped weight again without even trying, because I’m _broken_ , and my body isn’t really _mine_ , and what if nothing works to fix me? What if my body never feels like it’s mine again? I don’t know if I can take that, Ryou, I just want to feel like—”

“Kashi,” Ryou jumps in again, firmly but not coldly. “Have you told _Ulaz_ about this? About _any_ of it?”

Lifting his head again, Kashi furrows his brow and ponders this. “Some of it? The insomnia and the anxiety, definitely—”

“What about the headaches? The weight loss?” It’s a struggle not to roll his eyes when Kashi shakes his head. To fight that impulse off, Ryou tucks Kashi’s white forelock behind his ear. “Ulaz has you trying bupropion this time, right?” When he gets a nod, Ryou chokes back a sigh and explains, “Slav used to be on that, too. Everything you’ve just said? Those are some of the potential side-effects.”

“Huh? You mean, it’s…” Kashi blinks, shrinking in on himself. He goes wide-eyed in one of the same ways that he’s done since they were kids. Back then, this was a silent expression and it came at moments when his late namesake actually seemed proud or fond of him. But now, Kashi whispers, “You mean, I didn’t do something wrong? Or it’s not that something’s wrong with _me_?”

“Well, I’m not a _doctor_ and I’m not getting a medical PhD, but?” Ryou shrugs, tries to give Kashi a reassuring smile. “My best guess right now says, ‘No,’ Kashi? You just might not be on the right meds for you, is all, and I’m—”

Ryou had more to say about this notion, he knows he did. But it all gets cut off with a startled _oof!_ as Kashi flings his arms around Ryou’s shoulders, tugs himself up against Ryou’s chest. Pushing Ryou’s back up against the wall, Kashi launches himself into this embrace as if they’re standing up.

Physically, it’s an awkward position and, to Ryou, it doesn’t feel like it makes for a very good hug. Their legs get tangled together and Kashi’s go limp as he buries his face in the curve of Ryou’s neck. Even more thinned out than usual, he’s still tall and broad-shouldered and not exactly light, the same as Ryou, and their Dad, and Grandfather Shirogane besides. Having his brother all but dangling off his shoulders isn’t exactly comfortable, but for now, Ryou wraps his arms around Kashi and rubs his back as the deep, trembling breaths give way to quiet sobbing.

“Good, Kashi,” Ryou mutters against his hair. “It’s okay. Let it out.”

After a few minutes, when Kashi finally stills a bit, Ryou gives him a squeeze. “Did you eat dinner before everything else happened?”

The shake of the head isn’t surprising, and Ryou tightens his hug another time. He smiles when Kashi mumbles that he’d like eggs if Ryou doesn’t mind. Which of course he doesn’t. Just like how he doesn’t mind calling Mr. Phalen to let him know that Kashi needs to call in sick tomorrow, then calling Ulaz first thing in the morning about moving Kashi’s regular Thursday appointment, if they can swing that. And of course they’ll have to call Dr. Iverson, but not until Kashi’s out of the shower that he wanted—

“Ryou?” Kashi’s voice is small and soft. When he lifts his head, he isn’t crying anymore, but the tear-streaks glisten on his cheeks. “Will you just… Can you stay over tonight? Please?”

Nodding, Ryou kisses his brother’s forehead. “Always. Anytime you need me, Kashi.”

**Author's Note:**

> I would really like to apologize and have something to say for myself about this fic and then promise to never do this again…… but I feel like any apology would end up ringing hollow, because unfortunately, being my Favorite signs Shiro up for an approximate metric fuck-ton of whump. So, it would be more accurate to say that I’m not terribly sorry, and I will almost definitely do something like this again.


End file.
